Title: And Truth In Every Shepherd's Tongue
(Domestic Piranhas #11.5)
Authors: James Walkswithwind and the Mad Poetess
Pairing: Angel/Wesley/Gunn, Xander/Spike
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Yes, ma'am. giladajames@highstream.net and abbyty@lycos.com
Distribution: List archives only. All others, please ask.
Previous stories in the series can be found at: http://www.hawksong.com/users/mpoetess/piranhas and http://perian.slashcity.org/gila/dompir.html
Disclaimer: Joss owns them; we merely provide the sheep.
Authors' Note: "Come live with me, and be my love," Christopher Marlowe wrote. Raleigh wrote him an answer -- sort of Elizabethan fanfic. "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd," is the source of this story's title. Today's pretentious literary allusion was brought to you by the letter C, and Astroglide Lube.
Summary: Wesley sends a letter from England. Stuff happens.

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"Man, I gotta tell you--"

Angel looked over his shoulder at Gunn, as they trod down the hallway to their suite. Gunn was covered in yellow and orange demon goo. Snot, actually, but Angel wasn't about to inform his lover of that. "Tell me what?"

"You stink, man." Gunn's nose wrinkled up, as he acted like Angel had just walked in off the street after having accidentally rolled around in dog droppings.

"Yeah? And your aim was l...less than perfect." He'd been about to say, 'Lousy,' but of course it hadn't been, and Angel didn't especially want to wait until Wesley came home, to get turned back from the newt he'd become if he told a direct lie. Stupid, stupid, rassenfrassen spell... Still, he had to say *something*. Angel had gotten sprayed by Mathrak demon blood, which smelled worse than Cordelia's cooking, after Gunn had struck it with his ax. He'd been about saving Angel's life, of course, but that wasn't the point.

"*My* aim? You mean my saved your undead ass aim?"

"If you'd hit it a few inches lower, it wouldn't have sprayed me with blood. It would have just lost use of its lower limbs, organs, and brain. It'd be dead, and I wouldn't smell."

Gunn was giving him a flat stare, now. Angel tried looking guileless, but honestly, he'd never picked up the trick of it. All he could hope for was 'cute' or 'hopeless'. He didn't see how someone like *Spike* could look completely and utterly adorable, without so much as a twitch. Oh well. At least Gunn knew Angel wasn't lying, per se.

"Yeah, you wouldn't smell, 'cause your ass would be ash, if I'd taken the time to line up my aim so your favorite shirt didn't get trashed, instead of just whackin' its head off."

"I wasn't complaining about--" Shit. Newt. Orange and purple newt. "You were complaining about me smelling. You really think it's trashed?" Angel looked down at his best black silk shirt. There *was* a lot of blood on it.

"It's gone, Angel. Dead. Joined the choir invisible. It's an ex-shirt."

"Maybe there shouldn't be any more English TV nights for you." An idle threat, since no more English telly nights would mean no more getting Wes plastered by making him take a shot every time Mr. Humphries said, 'I'm free!' and neither of them was going to give *that* up.

He studied the shirt again, ignoring the fact that Gunn was holding the door open for him. Was it really ruined? He didn't trust Gunn's opinion; he'd suspected for a long time that Gunn was systematically trying to destroy every piece of dark clothing he owned. Wes would know whether it could be saved or not; sometimes it was nice to have a lover with a laundry fetish. He decided to put it aside in a smell-proof bag, to wait for an expert opinion.

"Uh-huh," Gunn was saying. "You try keeping it until he gets home and we are *both* leaving you. Hell, we'll have to fumigate the hotel, again."

"Two weeks isn't...that long. It's just a few days or so," Angel responded, trying not to look startled that Gunn had figured him out so well. "In the life of a vampire, anyway." He went into the suite, though, thinking that maybe if he invited Gunn to share the shower, he could sneak the shirt into the bag without Gunn noticing.

"Or so? Talk about pushing your newt-luck. Two more weeks is not 'a few days' -- especially in the life of a stinky, dead shirt. Besides, his last phone call he said he wasn't sure *how* long it'd be."

Angel could hear Gunn's disappointment -- he felt it himself. The first day had been nice, a short break from having to constantly be aware of two lovers. The second day he'd caught himself brooding about Wes being gone, and since then he'd only grown to miss him, more. He knew Gunn felt the same way, even without the whispered talks in bed, when they'd turned the lights off and cuddled in the empty spot between them.

"Did he sound distracted to you?" Angel asked, as he pulled his shirt out of his slacks, and began unbuttoning the fly.

"Uh-huh," Gunn said, sounding a little distracted, himself. Angel supposed it was because he was letting his slacks fall down, and bending over to help them, and showing Gunn his black-briefs-clad ass in the process. Funnily enough, Gunn didn't have the same complaints about his black wardrobe when it came to underwear, though he destroyed them as often as any other piece of clothing. Just usually not during battle.

Angel looked down at his feet, and made a noise of surprise at seeing his boots. He bent over farther to unlace them. He could hear Gunn moving closer to him, and he grinned at his toes as he pulled them out of the boots and slipped his socks off, still bent over. When the hand touched his back, Angel was ready for it, and didn't jump. Er, much.

Then Gunn was bending close over him and breathing in his ear. "Angel..."

"Yeah?"

"You smell."

"Your point being, and may I say you're gonna kill the mood here, if you don't watch it?"

"My point being I'm not having sex with you until you take a shower."

Angel didn't move. The position he was in was actually better, for what he was trying to accomplish, than face to face. Let Spike adorable-ize his way out of trouble, if Xander wanted to fall for that kind of blatant manipulation. Angel might not be known for being the most subtle man in the world, but he did have his moments of inspiration. He flexed his ass muscles.

"I was kind of hoping you'd have sex with me *while* I take a shower." Okay, not all that subtle.

"Man I ain't even taking a shower with you, until you take a shower. Angel, I love you but you *stink*."

Flex.

"Uh-uh, man, no way. Shower first."

Angel hesitated, then slowly began to stand back up -- making sure to use his ass muscles to maintain his wavery balance.

"Yeah, right. You think after watching Wes do a strip-tease for the thousandth time and making me wonder just how the heck I ended up in the hot tub when I was on my way to rescue my truck from Spike, that I'm gonna fall for something as simple as you twitching your butt at me?"

Angel looked over his shoulder. "I was kinda hoping."

Gunn shook his head. Then he took off his jacket. "Don't be using that rose scented soap, all right? Cordelia gets one whiff of it and she'll be raggin' on us all week." Gunn took his own shirt and jeans off, still chuckling, and followed him into the bathroom.

Angel didn't stop to question his success, just started heading for the shower. He had to leave his shirt someplace where Gunn wouldn't see it, which would be hard to do with Gunn standing right next to him, but he'd figure something out. The company was worth the difficulty. When he turned around and saw what Gunn was still wearing, Angel stared happily for a moment, then realized they looked familiar. "Aren't those Wesley's?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? There's no way I could get his underwear on my fine, well-muscled, posterior. I just got 'em to match."

"Wesley's ass isn't fine?" Angel asked without looking back, as he leaned into the shower and turned the water on quickly, curtain wrapped around himself to save him from the icy spray that always came out for the first few minutes, then quickly jumped back out to let the water get hot.

"Of course Wesley's ass is fine, nimrod. It's just too skinny. Like the rest of him." Gunn was peeling those cheetah print briefs off as he spoke. He looked up at Angel. "You think his folks are feeding him enough?"

Angel leaned against the bathroom wall, and frowned. He had a sudden vision of Wesley locked in a little bedroom under the stairs like Harry Potter, wearing his dad's old socks and eating two-day-old bagels for breakfast. He knew that wasn't the case, knew Wes was a grown man and anything that might have happened when he was a child aside, no one could get away with doing something like that now. But still...

"I get the feeling he won't remember to eat at all," he said, after his pause for thought had grown into a measurable silence. Then, "I don't like him going back there."

"You and me both. We should have tied him to the bed and told his ole lady he wasn't available."

"I don't think you can call an Englishwoman an 'ole lady'," Angel pointed out. He was waiting for Gunn to get into the shower, so he could hide his shirt.

"Think we should just go get him? Two weeks is long enough, don't you think? His dad's outta the hospital, and they say he's gonna be OK, right?" Gunn's tone said that he wasn't serious, he was just grumbling about missing Wes.

"That's what Wes said. You know, you could have gone with him." Angel twitched the shower curtain a little, making it appear that he was gesturing Gunn in, ahead of him.

"So could you. Put you in cargo, take a night flight...and don't think I'm getting in that shower while you're still standing there in that shirt. *Lose* it, deadman. It's stinkin' up the bathroom."

Angel blinked in surprise, and tried to look like he didn't have a clue what Gunn was talking about. Gunn's reply was cut short by a knock on their front door.

"Go away! We're naked in here!" Gunn called out. Angel knew it was safe, because the only people who would take that as an invitation, were in England.

"Fine!" Cordelia called back. "I'll just take this registered letter from Wesley back downstairs. Maybe even steam it open and read it."

Angel pulled off his shirt, yanked his robe off the back of the door, and shrugged into it faster than Gunn did his, but he did have supernatural speed, after all. Gunn was right behind him, though as they opened the front door.

Cordelia was standing there, letter in hand, foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor. When Angel reached for the envelope, though, she made a horrible face. He almost went into the patented Angel Investigations Cordelia-Catching Position, but figured out that it wasn't a vision when she reached up with her free hand and pinched her nose. "Eew! You stink! I take it back. Go shower."

"Fine." Angel rolled his eyes and reached for the letter.

She snatched it away, backing out of reach. "Uh-uh. Shower first, then letter. I wanna read it too, and you're not stinking it up with demon ick." She turned and walked off down the hall. Angel thought about ordering her to come back and give him his property or else, but he was already feeling humiliated enough by being told, again, that he smelled. He didn't need the sound of Cordy's and Gunn's laughter on top of that.

The shower that followed was one of the quicker ones that they'd ever taken; no pausing to soap interesting places more thoroughly than might be required, or stand under the water and just let it soak into worn-out muscles. It was more efficient than showering alone, and less crowded than showering with three people, but Angel knew they would both have preferred to be washing a familiar set of knobby knees and elbows in a slow, leisurely manner, than hurrying their way through a shower to run downstairs and read a letter from their owner.

Finally, though, they were both wrapped in their robes and somewhat dried off. They didn't smell, which was the important thing.

They found Cordelia sitting at her desk, -- on it, really -- holding the letter in one hand. "Finally! I was ready to open it myself." She paused, and looked them both over. "Are you guys naked under those?"

Angel just strode forward and grabbed the letter.

"Touchy! Boy, someone hasn't been getting any lately, has he?" She raised an eyebrow in question, at Gunn. He just growled at her, and leaned over to read over Angel's shoulder.

Angel didn't bother pointing out that he *would* have, if she'd just been ten minutes later. He ripped open the letter, wondering why Wes had written, instead of calling. Unless he had something to send? He pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

"Dear Angel, Charles: I hope my letter finds you both well. Things have been quiet the last two weeks, unless there are things you aren't telling me, when I call."

Angel grinned; he could almost see the look on Wes' face as he accused them of not telling him about the close calls. They actually *hadn't* had any, but...well, they probably would've told him.

"I imagine you're enjoying the last few moments of peace, before Spike and Xander return. Things here are...not so good, to say the least. Father's had something of a setback. Not another heart attack; I would have called you immediately, if it were anything so serious. But his doctor has told him that the damage looks to be worse than they first thought. He has a persisting cardiac arrhythmia, meaning that his heart is beating irregularly.

By itself, it isn't life-threatening, but the doctors fear that this may mean he isn't healing properly. For the moment, he has to be shielded from excessive stress at all times. This means that he can't run the house, or his business, or do any of the sort of things he's used to. Of course, he can't do any of those things right now, anyway, while he's recovering, but it appears that it might be a permanent situation."

Angel stopped reading, and looked at Gunn, whose expression matched his own -- not a lot of sympathy for a father who'd done his best to make sure Wes felt like a complete failure for most of his early life, and... well, Wes had never come right out and said anything, but there had been hints, here and there. Hints that the crack, years ago, about the closet under the stairs hadn't just been something made up by a desperate Ethros demon.

Or, as Cordelia put it, with a disgusted huff of breath, "Screw him. When's Wesley coming home?"

Angel started, then turned back to the letter. "I will of course have to extend my visit, as I indicated the last time we spoke. I apologize, but as I'm sure you're aware, my parents are in need of my assistance. As the only son, it falls upon me to make sure the estate runs smoothly during my father's convalescence. I am afraid that this position shall have to be as long-term as my father's need to refrain from subjecting himself to stress.

There was talk of hiring an assistant for him, but after reviewing my parents' financial situation, that would seem to be out of the question. The estate has had some serious financial setbacks in the last few years, due to losses among the livestock, and most of the family's remaining assets have been funneled into the maintenance of the manor proper. My father's pension from the Council of Watchers, while generous, isn't enough to cover the salaries of additional staff, to manage all this, but since salary isn't an issue with me, there is at least a good chance of saving enough to put the property on more stable financial ground."

Angel stopped reading aloud, and frowned. He re-read the last few paragraphs, silently, while Gunn said, "Is he saying what I *think* he's saying?"

Cordelia slid down from her desk and walked over, frowning. "How can you tell *what* he's saying? He just took three paragraphs to tell us his family's broke because some of the sheep died, and the house is falling apart. He sounds like he used to, back when he was in Sunnydale. Like Giles, but twice as stuffy."

Gunn blinked at her. "I thought you had it bad for him, back then?"

She looked suitably embarrassed. "Hey, I was eighteen. All older men were cute. Even *Angel* was cute."

Angel didn't even bother to acknowledge the compliment or insult, whichever it was. He was too busy re-reading the letter so far, for a third time. "He is. He's saying he's not coming home. What the hell?"

"He can't be saying that," Gunn replied. "What else he say?"

Angel returned to reading. "I realize that I never spoke of the chance I would one day have to return here; I had suspected it would be several more years before my parents would be in need of my assistance. I must confess I suspected this would be the case, when I received the phone call -- it is why I could not give you an answer, Angel, and for that I apologize. I was touched that you asked, and I would have given anything to respond. However, this way, you and Charles are free to pursue your lives together, without waiting for me."

"What the *fuck*?" Gunn tore the letter out of Angel's hands.

Cordelia pressed forward to read over his arm, as Gunn re-read the words Angel was trying to tell himself he hadn't seen. Maybe Wes was possessed? He was being forced to write those words? He...hadn't just said he wasn't coming home to marry them?

Gunn's voice interrupted his shock. "I would not delay your wedding, for my return, as I doubt I will be able to get away for several weeks, if not months. The situation here is rather delicate, and I fear it will not stabilize for some time. As I'm sure you can appreciate, any visits would only upset my father, so I must urge you not to do so. I shall be busy traveling back and forth to London over the next several days; as such doubt you will be able to get hold of me by telephone.

Father has suggested that I might try re-applying to the Council of Watchers as a consultant, which would allow me to have a certain financial independence, while maintaining things here on the estate."

Angel looked over. "I thought he didn't like the Council...?" He still felt too stunned to even ask why Wesley was writing these things.

"He sounds like he's been brainwashed," Cordelia observed. "Or like somebody's holding a gun to his head."

Even though Angel had had the same thoughts, now he found himself second-guessing them. "Well, he *can* start to sound like this when he's feeling defensive. Like when Gunn insulted his taste in interior decoration."

"I didn't insult his taste, I just said I didn't want Paddington Bear curtains in the bedroom. And that was pouting; he wasn't serious anyway. This ain't like that. This sounds..." Gunn shook his head, then said quietly, "Sounds like he means it."

Cordelia was trying to get the letter away from Gunn, now, looking positively pissed off with both of them. "This is such crap! What's the rest of it say?"

Gunn was shell shocked enough to let her take it, and she read out loud, "My regards to everyone...blah, blah, send for my things later, blah, blah, more stuff that sounds like Giles on Ritalin, and... oh, come *on* -- now I *know* he's insane."

"What?" Angel asked.

She held out the letter and pointed. "There. You gonna tell me he wrote *that* while not under the influence of heavy drugs or black magic?"

Angel read the line, then he read it again. Gunn was blinking, and finally leaned over to read it too. "Give Spike my beer?" he read aloud.

"Is that a cry for help, or what?" Cordelia asked, hands on her hips.

Angel was still staring at the letter. It was in Wesley's handwriting, and it...sounded more or less like him. He could certainly understand the need for the family's only son to return home and take over. Despite how much it hurt to know Wesley would choose parents he disliked, over friends who loved him, he was willing to admit it sounded...sort of understandable.

"Well, he doesn't exactly need his beer, since he's there now, does he? He can buy some around the corner at any local pub," Angel pointed out, though he didn't quite believe it. He was afraid to believe Cordelia, though. Why would Wesley write this letter at all, if he didn't mean any of it? Angel saw that Gunn was equally confused, unwilling to believe either that Wesley meant what he said, or that he had written it under the influence of something.

"God! I don't believe you two. You can't think he means any of this?" Cordelia asked.

"Why'd he write it, then, if he didn't mean any of it?" Gunn asked. "He coulda said something over the phone, and we coulda talked him out of it. Or tried, if he really meant it," Gunn's voice dropped to a defeated whisper.

"His phone calls haven't exactly been long and revealing lately, have they?" Cordelia asked dryly. It was true, in the last week his calls had grown shorter and shorter, until they barely had time to exchange pleasantries and reassure each other they were all still alive and breathing. Or the vampiric equivalent.

"Well, this one will be," Angel said grimly, picking up the cordless phone from her desk. "I don't know if he was serious about not being available or just trying to dodge us, but I plan to find out. And if he *is* there..." If he *was* there, then Angel would damn well *make* him stay on the line until he explained just what the hell was going on, and why he wasn't either on a plane home, or telling them which flight to take so he could meet them at Heathrow.

Cordy put her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her. "What? Don't you *want* me to call him?"

"Hell yes; it's the first intelligent thing you've done all day. I just think you should let *me* talk until we can get Wes on the line, so he doesn't go all freaky over his parents getting a call from one of his boyfriends."

She had a point; he handed her the phone, and she punched her way through its memory until she'd found the correct redial number. Soon she was waiting for the international operator to switch her over; Angel could hear the other side of the conversation faintly from where he stood.

An older woman answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello? May I speak with Wesley, please?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm sorry, Wesley isn't at home. This is his mother; may I ask who's calling?"

Angel had to hold himself back from grabbing the phone from Cordelia and demanding to know where Wesley was. Cordelia asked calmly, "Do you know when he'll be back? This is Cordelia, I'm a friend of his."

"He's not due back until tomorrow. He had to go visit Mr. Heller, our family's solicitor, and he thought he would be late enough that he wouldn't return until morning."

Gunn was making moves towards the phone, but Angel shook his head. Cordelia was speaking now. "Oh. Well, could you possibly have him call me when he gets in? It's pretty important; it has to do with a case we're working on."

"Oh. You're one of his...co-workers?" The friendly tone had grown a little awkward now, as if his mother didn't quite know what to say to a group of what were essentially amateur Watchers, when the professional versions were a part of her usual society.

"Yup, that's us. I'm Precognitive Headache Girl. I leap tall bottles of Tylenol in a single groan."

There was polite, if confused laughter on the other end of the line, then Angel heard the sound of something being clicked very near the phone. "May I take your number, then?"

"He has it. But just in case he's forgotten, it's..." She gave the office number. Then she gave her home number. Then she gave Spike and Xander's number. "If he can't reach me there, he can ring his own cell-phone, since he left it sitting on his desk," she finished off.

"It sounds rather important, then," his mother said.

"Oh, it is. It could be a matter of life and death." Cordelia mouthed, "His," at Angel.

When she'd hung up, Gunn looked at her like she'd gone nuts. "You give her enough numbers?"

"I want him to think there really *is* an emergency, and he *has* to call me back," she said unapologetically. "If he thinks it's about a case, then he might not dodge us."

"That's devious and underhanded," Angel told her. "Thanks."

Cordelia smiled, proudly. "You're welcome. I actually got the idea from Carla -- but you can't tell Xander."

"We haven't even told him we know you two have lunch together," Gunn pointed out. "Although I don't understand why -- someone tell me again why I can't give that guy a hard time?"

Angel gave him a flat look, trying to pull his thoughts away from Wesley. Wasn't coming home? "Because if you tell him...." He frowned, and tried to remember. "Why exactly don't we tell him?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Because it's more *fun* this way. God, don't you two ever remember anything that doesn't involve killing demons, or Wesley's swimsuits?"

Angel tried to think about Wes's swimsuits. Tried to think about Wes, wearing a swimsuit. But all he could think was - Wes didn't want to come home?

Cordelia waved her hands in front of his face. "Hey. Angsty One. Go pack."

"Huh?"

"Pack. Clothes. Yours. Gunn's. Um, no, maybe you should just pack Gunn's, and let me shop for you when we get to London."

"What?" That was from Gunn. "Whaddya mean, pack? He said not to go over there."

She put her hand on her hips. "He also said give Spike my beer. The man is *cracked*, Gunn. He needs medical attention. Or at least a good swift kick in the ass from a pair of size seven Prada pumps."

Neither of the men were going to point out that the only people in the hotel who could fit into size seven pumps were Spike and Xander's fish. Angel shook his head, at the rest of the statement. "Maybe. I don't know. But we at least have to wait for him to call back."

Cordelia looked at her watch. "Fine. I'll give him an hour. In the meantime, you can pack."

"We're not packing," Angel told her. "We're going to wait until Wesley calls, and see what he says."

"Yeah, see if he's drunk or just stupid," Gunn added. "We can just tell him to come home, and we won't have to go anywhere." To Angel, it didn't sound as if Gunn *truly* believed what he was saying. But it sounded good.

"You should call the airline," Cordelia said. "Do you want me to? Actually, I can have Carla do it -- she's way too good at making reservations without *any* connections. It's eerie."

Angel looked at Cordelia, not quite sure he believed what he was hearing. "We're not going anywhere," he repeated.

"You don't want to get last minute tickets to England, Angel. Trust me -- even a few hours' in advance will make it a lot easier."

"We aren't going anywhere," Angel said again. He glanced down at himself -- still not a newt. He must mean it, then. "We're not going anywhere because we won't need to," Angel added quietly. He wished he was as sure of that as he sounded -- and he wasn't sure he sounded all that sure. He wasn't a purple and orange amphibian, but there was a difference between lying out loud, and wondering if you were lying to yourself.

Gunn nodded, looking defiant -- then he reached for the cordless phone. "I'm just gonna... take this with me, while I go up and get dressed. Don't wanna freeze my ass off waitin' around down here for him to call." He started up the stairs, and Angel, after another look at Cordelia, who was heading for the front desk and the switchboard phone, turned to follow.

"Don't forget to pack your toothbrushes!" Cordelia called after him.

******

"Hey, thanks for the offer -- we'll definitely keep it in mind..." Xander was calling over his shoulder. Spike tapped him on the other one, then moved round behind him with vampiric speed, so that there was no one there when he looked. "Dork," Xander said, spinning all the way around and grabbing him.

"Who's the dork -- I'm not the one talking to people who aren't there," Spike pointed out. Xander looked around.

"Oh-- we're here. Damn. That was quick!"

Spike nodded. They stood in the basement bar of the Hyperion, directly facing the dart board upon which he habitually kicked Wesley's arse. "Yeah. Hmmph. You'd think somebody would've been round to meet us. Make sure we came through in two pieces, not counting luggage. At least Wes, since he did the spell in the first place." He looked down at the bags around their feet. One, two, three, four, five. "Er, didn't we only have four bags?"

"I bought the fifth one from the desk clerk, to carry all your stolen towels, which I also bought," Xander answered.

Spike stared in disbelief at his obviously-ill-trained glurble. "You *what*? Well, I don't want 'em." He reached down to grab his own two bags and headed for the lift. He found himself listing backwards, as someone's grip on the back of his shirt threatened to pull him off balance. "Yes?" he asked, as politely as his mum had taught him.

"You don't want the towels you stole?" Xander asked, looking less confused than he ought to be.

"Well, I didn't steal them now, did I? You bought them. Where's the fun in that?"

"Spike," Xander said in a very reasonable, patient tone which always made Spike want to depants somebody named Xander. "We would have been charged for them whether I told them we were stealing them, or not. There was even a line on the invoice for 'stolen merchandise/internal' and 'stolen merchandise/external' which I'm guessing means that they charged us for the cigarettes you stole from the newsstand."

Spike looked behind him, wondering who Xander meant. Stolen cigarettes? He didn't smoke anymore. Couldn't have been him, and he let Xander know. He looked cute.

"You don't think I don't know what brand Angel smoked? Spike, if you leave cigarettes around his office and suite, and he gives in to temptation and smokes one, you know what he's going to do?" Xander looked stern.

"Spank us?"

"Yes-- why 'us'?"

"Because he'll know you didn't stop me."

Xander grinned. "Cool!"

Not that Angel really would, not with his two humans growling at him. But it would piss him off, and make him *want* to smack them, which was almost as much fun. Especially watching him have to reign in the impulse. Spike started for the lift, again. Xander grabbed him by the collar, again.

"Forgetting something?" Xander asked, pointing to the fifth bag.

"*You* bought 'em."

"*You've* got the super-strength. Besides, the cigarettes are in there too."

"Well, why didn't you say so." Spike grabbed the shoulder strap and added the bag to his load. "Still think that lot could've come to meet us," he grumbled as they entered the lift. "See if they get any pressies, if they don't show up to help carry the bags."

"Like it's such a hardship, Spike. We only have to walk about ten feet with 'em. You just wanna start telling X-rated honeymoon stories right away."

"Well, duh..." The lift creaked its way to their floor, as Spike was still rolling his eyes.

"We'll drop the bags in our suite, then go downstairs and find everybody, okay?"

Spike nodded, and followed Xander down the hall to their door, which was, as usual, not locked. Everyone was afraid of the fish food, or possibly the fish. "Dru?" he called.

"Um, love of my life?" Xander was saying, hesitantly, as he stared at the door. Spike looked over and saw there was a piece of paper stuck to it.

He looked at Xander. "It isn't my fault."

Xander just pulled the paper off the door, and handed it to him. Spike took it, but didn't look at it. He peered into their suite, wondering where Dru was. Maybe she'd taken the kids to the hot tub?

"Spike, read it."

"Not sure I want to." Xander was acting like Spike had got caught doing something important. Was it too late to just run downstairs and find someone to regale with stories of nakedness in the Queen's court? Not that Xander had let him, but nobody *here* would know that.

"Spike, it says 'Daddy gave me--"

"All right!" Spike didn't put his hands over his ears, but he did give Xander a glare, and read the note.

'Daddy gave me the pool, so I've taken my niece and nephews down to play. It has more room for the crocodiles, anyway. Can we get some monkeys?' It was signed 'Drusilla'. Spike handed it back to Xander. Then he carefully set his bags down inside the doorway.

Xander looked at him worriedly. "Shouldn't we be going down there? Like, now? Before either our children or our whatever-the-hell Dru is, get eaten by large carnivorous reptiles?"

"The crocodiles are imaginary. She's had 'em for years. I'm more worried about the monkeys. If she pouted Angel into buying her some, and she tries to feed real monkeys to imaginary crocodiles..." Spike shook his head, and started to walk past the bags, into the room. Yet again, he was stopped by a yank on his collar. He turned round to see that Xander had set his own bags down in the hallway, and was looking at him expectantly. "What?"

"I believe somebody told me I got to be the manly man when we got home." With that, Xander grabbed him, and wrangled him round til he was being carried like some swooning chit. How Xander managed to balance holding somebody like that who was only a couple of inches short than himself, Spike would never know, but balance he did, as he carried Spike over the threshold, then deposited him with a loud 'boing!' on the couch.

Then Spike watched as Xander turned around to pick up the bags, and stopped, still, staring at the wall where the fishtank used to be. "Uh--" Xander said. Then, "Uh? She carried the whole tank downstairs to the pool?"

"Probably. S'alright. We've got a spare." Spike pointed to the opposite wall, managing to stifle his shit-eating grin, somehow.

A large freshwater tank ran half the length, filled with growing plants, colorful rocks, and several half-chewed bubbly divers. There was even a separate small tank attached to it, just as Spike had ordered. Angel had set the whole thing up while they were gone, just as Spike had asked him to -- though he'd probably waylaid Dru into distracting the kids while he got the tanks ready, the big chicken. Afraid of a few friendly nips from his own grandchildren...

Xander was staring open-mouthed at the setup. "Uh..." he repeated.

"Happy Wedding?" Spike offered. Xander's mouth closed and opened several times, and Spike decided the kids really did take after him, on that account. They got the teeth from Spike, though. "We did want a bigger place for the kids, right? It's even got an extra tank for the fry, 'cos...er...they're a bit cannibalistic." Spike was looking carefully, to see if Xander was pleased with it.

He must have been, because he bent over the couch and kissed Spike on the forehead, very softly. "You're a very good husband and father, you know that?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I am. Read all the books, didn't I?"

Xander stood over him, grinning slightly. "The New Joy of Gay Sex does not count as a fatherhood manual, Spike." He crossed his arms, and just stood there for a moment, still looking at Spike, and at the wedding present against the wall.

Eagerly, Spike waited to see if Xander was going to strip for him, or strip *him*, or just order Spike to do one or the other. Instead he found Xander walking back towards the door. "Oi! Aren't we gonna shag?"

Xander gave him a very amused look, over his shoulder. Spike pouted at him, but Xander turned his head too fast. "I'm gonna go find Dru, and make sure there aren't any monkeys being eaten by...anything. Imaginary or not."

Spike folded his own arms. "And you'd rather make the hotel safe, than stay up here with a very good husband and father and be naked? I'd go for partially naked," Spike offered. Xander was still walking away, so Spike scrambled up and hurried after him. He wasn't about to waste his time pouting at the *wall*, for cripes' sake. "What d'you think you can do, that Angel and his hairy beasts can't?"

"Watch?"

"Better things to watch than Dru pouting at Angel," Spike reminded him. Xander was ignoring him, though, and still headed for the stairs. "Xa-an..."

"Spike, you act like we didn't just have sex an hour ago."

"Because we didn't!"

That got him. Spike tried not to show any signs of glee, as Xander stopped, and looked at him with a bewildered look on his face. "Excuse me? Who was I having an orgasm with, then?"

Spike grabbed Xander's watch, and tapped its face. "It was 75 minutes ago. Not an hour. I'm a newlywed, I need lots of sex."

"You're a doofus, and I wanna go find everybody. Come on." Xander returned to his quest to prevent Spike from having sex any time in the next half hour, and headed for the stairs.

Spike stared at his husband's backside, as it disappeared down the stairs. Grumbling, he followed. Angel had better be down there for Spike to annoy, or else Spike was going to...er...be even more annoyed. Half a flight down, he could hear Cordelia going on about something. Sounded like she was yelling at Angel. Spike grinned, and hurried. Seeing Princess give his Sire what for was even better than annoying Angel, himself. As Spike caught up, Xander glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. He could probably hear Cordy now, as well.

Spike just grinned even wider and hurried them along. When they reached the lobby, they found Angel and Gunn both being yelled at by Cordelia. Admittedly, it wasn't a real yelling -- not like they'd destroyed Cordelia's new leather shoes, or some other cardinal sin. But they'd been idiots about *something*, that was clear. Spike sauntered over, and gave them a big smile when they looked over. "Well, anyone want to know what we did while we were gone?"

Angel didn't respond, and Gunn just shook his head once. Cordelia gave both Spike and Xander a worried look. Spike frowned. "What's going on?"

He glanced around. "Where's Wesley?"

"In England!" Cordelia replied, glaring at Angel and Gunn again.

Spike blinked, then started to laugh. "You don't mean to say he came after us to help with the bags after all, and got sucked into vamp-land when we came through?" He wasn't remotely worried that Wes would be in danger. Even assuming some uncouth vamp like his own double decided to ignore protocol and snack on an uncollared human, Wesley hadn't worked in this business for this long without learning to defend himself from vampire attacks -- or hotel concierges who'd want a bribe to tell him where he was.

"Not *that* England, slow boy. *Real* England."

Spike blinked. "Oh. Er... why?"

Then Cordelia was explaining, at a speed he'd have had no idea the human body was capable of producing if he hadn't lived with the King of Babble for seven years. With frequent interjections of "No, that's not what I meant," and "But he *said* not to come over..." from Angel and Gunn. Xander's eyes were bouncing up and down, and he kept glancing at Spike as if he was only barely getting it, and would be requiring a translation for those with only human-level hearing, later on.

"And it's been two *days* and he hasn't called back, and *these* idiots don't want to fly over there and drag him home!" she finished off. Spike was fairly sure she'd said that bit already, but even *he'd* gotten slightly lost once the back-and-forth shouting had started up again.

"Er, so?" Spike asked, and he knew it was a mistake as soon as he'd got to the 'er'. Princess was about to take his head off, so he ducked behind Xander and added, "Why don't we just go over there, then?"

Cordelia threw up her hands. "That's what *I* say! God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but even *Spike* agrees with me." She stopped, and frowned. "Normally I'd say that was cause for checking myself into an institution. But in this case I'll say it's due to the fact that Spike likes Wesley."

"Not that way!" Spike said quickly, even though Sire and grumpy Sire's Other Lover barely glanced his way. Reflex was a wonderful thing, kept you undead.

Xander was staying quite handily in front of Spike -- and what was up with that, Spike wondered. Since when does Xander not try to toss Spike back into the fray? Maybe his brain was still all glurbled. Spike didn't ask, as his hus-glurble. Glurble. As he said, "I have a company jet we can use, if tickets are the problem?"

When everyone stared at him, he added, "Not *my* company. I have David's jet. Um, he might not *know* I still have it."

"So you let me think I'd have to fly cargo on the honeymoon because..." Spike asked.

Xander looked at him. "So we'd end up going someplace you couldn't get to by plane, d'uh."

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it, then nodded. Made a mental notch on his "Things I Must Get Xander Back For" list, and went on with looking innocent and helpful in Cordelia's direction.

"Well, David certainly won't mind if we use his plane," she said. "He still owes me for fixing him up with Jonathan, anyway."

Spike bit his tongue. *He* certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell her that David Nabbit, visibly flaming nelly that he was, was also straight as a parson's nose, and his roleplaying sessions with Jonathan Levenson were just... roleplaying. He was rather hoping Angel got stuck with making that little revelation about Cordy's matchmaking abilities.

"We're *not* -- " Angel started.

Cordelia cut him off. "Come *off* it, Angel. You're just as worried as the rest of us, and there's nothing you'd like more than the stomp in there, throw Wes over your shoulder, beat your chest and yell like the large hairy man-thing you are, and carry him off into the sunset. Well, the moonrise, anyway."

"I'm not hairy," Angel said absently. He looked like he was trying to put a real answer together at the same time. Spike kept expecting to see smoke coming out of his ears, or a little popup window telling him the system was dangerously short on resources.

Gunn frowned. "Maybe she's right, Angel. It's been too long. It's not *like* Wes to make us worry. Not on purpose."

Angel frowned too -- then he growled. "Wes asked us not to go over there." He looked at Cordelia. "You're right. Every instinct in me is telling me to hop in Xander's plane, or David's, or whoever's, or just jump in the damned ocean and *swim* across, and take what's mine." Then he looked at Gunn. "But I'm not going to."

Gunn looked back at him, challengingly. "Why not?"

"Because he asked us not to. He made his decision -- if he wants to unmake it, he knows where we are."

For a moment, everyone stared at Angel. Spike was pretty sure they were all thinking the same thing - 'Should I smack him?'

"So you're gonna just let him go, without a word." Gunn crossed his arms and glared. "Well, not me. If he thinks he wants to stay in England--"

"Stay in England?" Spike blurted. Maybe he should have listened to Cordelia more closely.

"Yeah. Hello? Earth to Spike?" Gunn didn't say it quite the way Cordelia did, which made Spike feel safe in growling at him. Gunn just glared at him, and said, "He says he's staying. For *good* unless we go talk some sense into his pansy ass."

"Didn't you hear the part where Wesley said you could have his beer?" Xander asked, sounding all smug about the fact that he'd followed that part of the rant, and Spike hadn't. Xander just had more practice, was all, what with monthly staff meetings.

"I was distracted," Spike muttered, glancing towards Cordelia's chest, which got him smacked, and dimpled at. "So tell me again why you aren't already back across the pond, dragging him home?" Spike asked.

Angel sighed, sounding truly set upon by the weight of annoying childer everywhere. "Because he's a grown man, and he can make his own decisions. I'm not going to second guess him, or demand that he do what *I* want, when his family needs him."

"What about this family?" Cordelia demanded.

But Angel just shrugged. Gunn continued staring in disbelief, then he shook his head. "Fine. You stay. I'm going -- Xan, where've you got this plane stashed?"

"David's got a hangar at LAX." Xander was looking questioningly at Angel, though. "Angel--"

"Xander, leave it alone," came the reply. One tick over the safe side of the line that would have Spike growling at anybody who talked like that to Xander, Sire or no.

Xander saved him the trouble of deciding whether he should growl at Angel anyway, just because it was fun. Spike's glurble blinked, then nodded and turned to Gunn. "I'll call David and let him know I've still got the code keys and we're taking it international tonight. You guys packed?"

Cordelia gave him a 'd'uh' stare that would probably have wilted anyone who'd never dated her, and said, "I *know* you didn't just question my preparedness for international travel, oh small boy who used to think road trips to Tijuana for his uncle's favorite beer made him a jetsetter...."

"Hey, at least *I* didn't get *killed* in the first alternate dimension I ever went to." There was a glint of predatory amusement in Xander's eyes that made Spike want to do something to him against a door. Or a wall. Or Cordelia, if she wouldn't come after them with an axe.

Anya had told Spike all about that alternate universe. At the time, the story had prompted him to drag Xander to the mall and pour him into some leather trousers, then take him dancing, just so he'd have the fun of peeling his lover out again after. Much later, it had made him think thoughts he didn't want to think, about how different that other Xander sounded from his own.

"How was I supposed to know you were a vampire?" Cordelia shot back.

"The black leather?"

"I probably just thought it was some *really* bizarro dimension, where you had taste. Anyway, the second dimension I visited, I was a Queen. And I mean the kind with the crown, not the kind with the husband's hand down the back of his pants."

Xander just grinned, and whapped Spike's hand. "You're beautiful when you're shallow and vicious. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Cordelia smiled, and Spike didn't bother to inform her that Xander was obviously talking to *him*. She gestured at Gunn, who was heading towards the stairs. "You're packed, too. And tall, dark, and broody. I didn't touch those animal print underwear, though." She wrinkled her nose.

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Should I ask where my suitcase is?"

"Car?" Cordelia rolled her eyes.

He narrowed his eyes. "And the pilot?"

"He's at the Biltmore. Waiting."

Spike felt Xander shiver. He leaned close and whispered, "You need to not let her hang around Carla anymore."

Xander gave him a look that said he thought Spike was crazy. Spike kissed him, then got pushed away. "What makes you think Carla's the evil influence?"

"I heard that!"

"I'll go grab our bags," Spike offered, giving his husband a slight nudge towards Cordelia. Hopefully it would distract her long enough for him to make a getaway. Not that she made *him* want to shiver, or anything.

******

They were making way too much noise, Angel thought. He sat in one of the upholstered chairs in the lobby, trying to ignore them as they made their last-minute checks and phone calls, grabbed things they thought they'd need, and whined about carrying the suitcase full of stolen towels, whatever the point of that was.

He hadn't moved from the chair he'd sunk into when they all jumped into action, and none of them had stopped to try convincing him again, which was perfectly fine with Angel. He might not be able to convince Cordelia to give it up -- and he'd long since given up believing she'd take a direct order from him -- but he didn't have to participate in the madness.

He could sit here and... That was the problem, of course. He could sit here and do nothing. Except think. Brood. And no one was going to paint his toenails to snap him out of it, now.

No one. 'No one' might never do that again, since it had been 'no one's' idea in the first place, and Gunn had gone along with it because it was fun. Angel resisted the urge to take his shoes off and stare at the chipped Purple Passion on his feet right now.

"You're very silly," a low voice commented. It was feminine, oddly musical, and he'd known it for over a century. Angel opened his eyes, and looked up to see Drusilla standing in front of him, holding the small travel Piranha tank in her arms.

"They're not taking the fish, are they?" he asked, blinking.

"No, silly Daddy. I'm watching the babies." She frowned. "I know what you're thinking, and you are. You're *very* silly."

Angel stretched, limbs stiff from sitting still and trying to pretend he wasn't paying attention to the bustle that had been going on round him. Then he settled back and closed his eyes again. "Dru, if you know what I'm thinking, you've got one up on me."

There was no answer, except a laugh. When he opened his eyes again -- since a laugh from Dru could mean anything from 'That's a lovely Christmas card' to 'The building is on fire' -- she was gone. There was a reason to go to England, right there. He could avoid spending the next few days alone with Dru. Not that he would ever tell *her* that...since she probably already knew. But to be locked up with her and Spike and Xander's insane pet fish was a very good argument for going.

But he wasn't going. Wesley had *asked* them not to. Told them, in fact, straight out. 'Don't come'.

It wasn't that he thought Wesley was *right*, really. Deep down Angel thought Wesley belonged here, no matter what was wrong with his parents. But what Angel wanted wasn't necessarily what Wesley wanted. If Wesley wanted to come home, all he had to do was say so. Angel would be the first one on the plane, if Wesley asked them to come get him. But Wesley had asked that he not come. So he wasn't. And why was he the only one who was respecting Wesley's wishes?

Angel frowned, and listened as Gunn called out something to Xander, something which Angel wasn't listening to because he didn't care if anyone had an extra set of keys and if they should hire a taxi or take Angel's car. Wait, take *his* car?

*His* car? Okay, true, Xander's car was too small for four people *and* their luggage, and Gunn's truck was out of the question. Cordy didn't drive if she could help it in case she got a vision behind the wheel, so his was the most logical choice. But it was *his* car!

He was *not* listening. He could *not* hear them bumping suitcases down the hall towards the garage, or Spike calling back last good byes to the fish. He didn't care if they took his car and left it sitting at the airport. He could always hotwire Gunn's truck, pick up his own car, and leave the truck to be impounded at LAX. Would serve him right.

Angel was glad he hadn't said any of that out loud, or he'd be flicking his little newty tail right now. Especially for the last part; Gunn just wanted Wes back, as much as Angel did. More, maybe. No, not more. But...maybe Gunn thought he knew Wes better than Angel did. That this was like Wesley's little 'show me you love me' head games during sex. Hell, maybe it was, but Wes had *said* straight out -- don't come here. That wasn't the same as "No, really, it's okay, I don't need to have my legs held apart held forcefully and be rimmed until my eyeballs roll back in my head."

No matter how many secret handshakes he and Gunn had, or Laker games they'd been to while Angel was living in Darla-inspired la-la land, there was a part of Wes that sometimes only Angel saw -- a part against which you didn't press, because it was too stiff. Too hard, too brittle. Times that you had to take him at his word, because if you pushed him on it, you'd break something. What if this was one of those times, and with or without Angel there, they pushed, and something shattered?

Angel could trust Gunn to try to put him back together, and Cordelia and -- god help him -- even Spike could help pick up whatever pieces of Wesley they broke. If he were *there*, though, Angel could stop them from hurting Wes in the first place.

He realized he was standing, before he realized he'd decided to go. He frowned, and sat back down. He was worrying for nothing. They weren't going to hurt Wes. They were just going to go talk him out of the decision he'd made. The decision that the intelligent, self-reflective man had come to after at least two weeks to think about it. Angel noticed he was standing again. He stepped back to the chair and sat down. He wasn't going.

He could maybe go down to the garage and yell at them not to hurt Wes, though. Warn them not to argue with him or push him or do anything more than just ask him if he really wanted to stay.

Angel noticed he was several steps towards the parking garage. How the hell had he skipped standing up again? He wasn't going with them, he told himself sternly. He was just going to tell them they'd better be nice to Wesley, or he'd.... Well, yell when they got back. Although if he *did* go, he could yell at them right away...

Fuck it. Angel ran towards the garage, hoping they hadn't left yet.

When he got there, he found Cordelia leaning casually against the driver's side door, holding out the keys. Everyone else was already packed into the back seat.

"I'm not--" Newt. Spike laughing at him. The whole six-month quarantine for pets, in England... "I still don't think you're right," Angel explained as he took the keys.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm only going along to make sure you guys don't screw things up."

"Uh-huh."

Angel frowned. "I mean it. I'm *not* going to enjoy myself."

"Whatever." Cordelia had already slid into the front passenger seat, and was slamming the door behind her.

Angel got in, and turned the key in the ignition. "I'm doing this under protest."

"Gonna be doing it under water if you don't shut up," Spike observed. "Princess'll chuck you out the plane window into the ocean."

Angel turned to Cordelia as he started the car's engine. "Can we make Spike fly cargo? Please?"

There was a sniff from the back seat. "Hmmph. See if you get any pressies."

Cordelia's eyes lit up. Angel groaned.

"Besides, who's providing this plane, anyhow?" Spike demanded. Angel glanced over his shoulder as he backed out of the parking spot.

"David," Angel told him.

"Er, yeah, but if it weren't for Xander's ability to eat two pounds of gummy worms at one sitting, David wouldn't have lost his pl--" He stopped as Xander elbowed him. It looked like Xander had put a lot of force behind it, too. "He wouldn't have lent us the plane in the first place. So you better be nice to me, or we won't let you go."

Angel didn't bother trying to follow any of the more insane threads of Spike-logic in that claim. "I don't want to go," he reminded them, instead. No one looked like they believed him. "I mean it," he reiterated. Could they not *see* that he hadn't turned into a lizard? Well, those of them who knew he was under the spell, which would be Cordy and Gunn. He hadn't been about to let Spike know he couldn't lie, even if it *was* part of his childe's wedding gift.

There was smug silence, and Angel headed towards the garage exit. He heard Xander start to say "Um", but he was apparently stifled. Angel was trying to think of a way to explain, again, that he was only going to protect Wesley, without insulting anyone -- say, Gunn -- enough that he'd be in real trouble.

"Er, Ang--" Cordelia started, then cut off and turned around to glare into the backseat. Angel ignored her -- they were all obviously trying to distract him, or convince him that he was going in order to bring Wes home.

"You gonna--" Gunn began. Angel heard someone thump him, then Gunn was demanding, "What the fuck was that for? You're gonna turn to ash too, moron."

Angel slammed on the brakes, twenty feet away from the garage exit, so he could put the top up before driving out into the sun. "I hate...arrgh. I have extreme dislike for all of you," he muttered.

"Ow!" he heard Spike say. Then, sullenly, "Just wanted to see how close he'd get."

"I didn't marry you just so you could get yourself killed the day we get back from the honeymoon," Xander informed him.

"I'd've ducked under you," Spike protested.

If this lasted all the way to the airport, Angel might just decide to put the top down again, he thought. Why did his two blissful weeks of no Spike have to be combined with two unhappy weeks with no Wes? The only reason it *didn't* last all the way to the airport was that Cordelia distracted them again by asking about presents -- which were packed away in one of the suitcases in the trunk, so they all had to make do with Spike and Xander's disturbing hints about what they might have brought home with them.

Especially the 'remembrances' from the other universe's version of Dru. Imagining what *those* might consist of did a good enough job of distracting Angel that before he knew it, they were pulling into the underground long-term parking garage in the private business section of LAX. Then there was yammering about who was going to carry the suitcases, and where were they supposed to meet the pilot, and did everyone have his passport, and Spike wanting to buy a Tom Clancy novel that he wasn't going to read, just to say he'd had a proper airport experience, since this would be the first time he hadn't flown cargo.

Before he knew it, Angel was sitting in the window seat of the flight he hadn't intended to take, staring out at the sky through polarized glass, wondering what, if anything, he should say to Gunn. His lover had been avoiding him -- sometimes subtly, sometimes rather pointedly, but, there was no doubt, avoiding him. He wasn't sure if Gunn was mad at him, or not. Angel could think of some good reasons for it, starting with him implying that Gunn was going to England to do something, even accidentally, to hurt Wesley.

But Gunn wasn't the sort that had to be followed around and talked into telling you what you'd done wrong. Sooner or later he'd get his own back on Angel, either by pissing Angel off or giving him a good thump or being attacked by slimy demons and deciding to let bygones be bygones.

Unlike Wesley. Angel closed his eyes and pretended to be concentrating on not thinking about the fact that he was on an airplane. He'd never been on an airplane before, a fact he wasn't sure anyone else knew. But really, he was thinking about Wesley, and how you had to trick him into telling you what was bothering him, or how you had to listen to what he was saying and put it together with what he wasn't saying and.... Angel was starting to get a headache.

The plane was moving forward, now. Spike was jabbering about something, to Cordelia -- something about England, and a shopping trip. He didn't want to listen. Spike and Cordelia bonding? He *really* didn't want to listen.

He could read, of course. There was Spike's Clancy novel, discarded on the seat across the aisle from him, as Angel had known it would be. Not that Spike didn't read; you just had to get him in the right mood. Either extremely relaxed, or extremely bored. So bored that bouncing around and annoying people lost its appeal. Angel suspected Spike wouldn't be picking up a book in the near future.

The prospect didn't appeal much to Angel, either, though; spy thrillers didn't do much for him. He could stand up and walk around as soon as David's private stewardess made the announcement that it was safe to get up and move about now. But if he did, there was a good chance everyone would notice how worried he was. After all, where was there to go? Only over to sit with someone else, or the restroom, and he'd definitely be looked on suspiciously if he headed that way.

Angel shook his head, and found, to his surprise, that a shake was turning into a nod. Well, it *had* been a long, argument-filled morning. A quick nap wouldn't do any harm, and might get rid of the ache in his skull. He'd likely wake up when the plane lifted off anyway, whereupon he could...return to thinking about things that gave him headaches. He closed his eyes lightly, still half braced for the pressure he was expecting when the plane began to pick up speed. He opened them a few seconds later, to hear the stewardess saying, "Would you like O negative, or AB?" in his ear.

"Huh?" He blinked, and looked up to see the stewardess standing beside the row of seats. She was smiling brightly at him, which would have made her pretty if it weren't for the third and fourth eyes and the tusks. "O?" Angel told her, not completely sure what she was asking. He'd barely -- Angel caught sight of the window beyond her, and saw clouds.

"I'll be right back!" the stewardess was saying, in a perky voice. Angel leaned closer to the window, and looked down.

Clouds. Fleecy white clouds.

He leaned back, fast, and wondered how long he'd been asleep and whether he could manage to sleep for the next however many hours it would take to get to England.

"What's the matter, Deadboy? Afraid of heights?" Xander plopped down in the seat beside him, looking entirely too nonchalant. Angel reminded himself that Xander traveled rather a great deal, on business. He'd usually only be gone for a day or two, but he flew at least twice a month.

"Nah, heights are fine." Angel didn't look out the window again. Maybe talking to Xander would distract him from flying, *and* from other headache inducing things.

"How often have you flown?"

"Oh, you know...never."

Xander blinked at him. "Never? Oh, you mean like Spike -- you've always had to be stuffed in a box in cargo, before."

"No, I mean never."

"You're two hundred and fifty something, and you've never flown in a plane before? How'd you get to the States in the first place?"

"Boat." Yes, this was distracting him from flying. Too bad he *couldn't* have lied, to shut off this line of inquiry. "They float on water. Kind of like rubber ducks, but bigger."

Xander was wide-eyed, now, though grinning lightly. "Whoa -- Angel makes with the attempts-to-be-funny. You *must* be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Angel answered. He wasn't. He was too worried, to be nervous. Not worried about flying, not really. At least not more than the dozen other things he was worried about. He just *seemed* more concerned about flying than anything else, because it was happening, right now. He was flying, and people weren't supposed to do that. Not even dead people. Bats were supposed to fly, and if he suddenly developed the Drac-u-lesque ability to turn into one, he wouldn't mind flying at all.

"You know nothing'll happen to you, right? I mean, even if the plane crashed over the ocean, you'd be fine. The humans would drown, but you'd just be stuck inside the plane, underwater. With Spike."

"Thank you. That's... not exactly comforting."

"You could always stake him, so I'd have company," Xander added.

Angel peered at him, but declined to respond. Xander gave him a grin, and said nothing more. They sat in silence for a while -- it was almost companionable, and Angel was beginning to get paranoid. He was just turning his head to demand Xander get on with it, when Xander spoke.

"So, uh."

Angel waited. When there was nothing more immediately forthcoming, he decided that if nothing else, talking to Xander would work off a bit of his Go To Hell, Go Directly to Hell points. "Yes, Xander?"

The man sitting beside him shifted in his seat, a worried look on his face that made him look exactly like the sixteen year old boy Angel had first met. He could understand why Spike was insisting on waiting until Xander looked older, before turning him. Angel thought he'd probably have to wait til Xander was about 35.

He couldn't imagine what Xander would have to talk to him about, unless something had happened in the other England. They *had* met their counterparts, but Spike had gleefully explained at some point on the drive over, how the other Spike and other Angel had spent the entire week having sex. The look on Xander's face when Spike had told them, let Angel know there was nothing about *that* which bothered Xander. If anything, he looked a little too interested.

Angel wasn't about to tell him that it was physically impossible for vampires to have sex for a week...without stopping at least twice a day. Not that Angel *knew*, but it was what he'd heard. Yeah. What he'd heard. He just hoped nobody asked him about it before Wes took the truth spell off.

"Um..." Xander said again. Awkwardly. It suddenly clicked in Angel's head, and he only escaped his urge to groan because the stewardess chose to show up at that moment, handing him a warm mug of O neg, complete with a drip-proof saucer. Angel gritted his teeth as he took it, because he had an idea of what was going on, now. Xander had been sent as the goodwill ambassador. The person he'd be most likely to talk to, because Gunn wasn't *ready* to talk to him, Cordelia was sick of arguing with him, and they all knew he was moments away from wringing Spike's neck on a *good* day, which this wasn't.

He leaned back, took a sip, and looked at Xander again. Sighed. "I'd have thought you'd understand where I'm coming from, better than anybody. Or was that why they sent you over?'

Xander looked puzzled, as well as awkward, now. "Sent me? Nobody sent me. Can't a guy come over to harass his father-in-law of his own free will?"

Father-in-law? Angel was suddenly grateful for both his drip-proof saucer and the fact that vampires didn't have to breathe, so couldn't technically choke. "I'm not your father-in-law." Not legally, anyway. "Cordy says she found Spike under a cabbage leaf."

"They why'd you give him away at our wedding?"

"Because Cordelia couldn't get the cabbage leaf to do it."

"She could have. Cordelia? Oh, she could have. But nobody wanted to invite it. Come on, Angel, confess -- you did it because you wanted a good seat."

"I did it because Wes and Gunn would have guilted me for a year if I'd said no." True, among other reasons. "I have enough guilt already, thanks."

"So why do you think I'd know where you're coming from?" Xander asked. "Where you're coming from about what?"

Angel hoped Xander wasn't trying to be subtle. He didn't have the strength to deal with subtle, at the moment. Purposely dim, he could handle, but not subtle. "About Wes. About taking off after him when that's exactly what he said he didn't want us to do."

"Oh. That." Xander looked... less comfortable. Not *un*comfortable, exactly; just not as easy as he'd seemed when he first sat down. "You know, Gunn's just trying to--"

Angel shook his head, then nodded, then, since he apparently couldn't decide what to do with his head, simply put up a hand. "I know what Gunn's trying to do. You think I *don't* want to go stomping into his father's house, throw Wes over my shoulder, and... what was that Cordy said?"

"Beat your chest like the hairy man-thing you are," Xander supplied helpfully. He grinned. "I don't think you're hairy. Really."

"Thank you. I appreciate your support." Angel took another sip of his blood. "But I don't know what's going on, and I don't know what Wes wants, and I don't want to be the guy to screw everything up by treating him like some kind of damsel in distress, or a kid who can't think for himself. He's a grown man; I have to respect what he says he wants, even if I hate it. Even if I'm not sure he really wants it." He looked at Xander, who was nodding, slowly -- though Angel couldn't tell if that meant he was agreeing, or just looking over Angel's shoulder at a gremlin on the wing. "I thought out of everybody, you'd get that."

"Oh." Now Xander was definitely nodding. Then frowning. "Um, even though I kinda do, why did you think I would?"

"Because of Spike." Angel could hear him, a few seats back, telling Cordelia something about inviting his mother to visit. His *mother*? Spike's mother? Angel shuddered -- subtly, he hoped. "When he took off for L.A., you let him go. Let him figure out what he wanted to do."

Xander blinked at him, then smiled. Almost shyly, which made Angel blink back. Xander hadn't been shy with anyone in the inner family circle in years. "Ah, yes. The 'if you love something, let it go -- if it doesn't come back, it probably took up with a creepy pole-dancer who never pays for dates and comes on to everything on less than five legs' approach."

"Um, yeah." Angel tried to remember if that was a fair assessment of Marc, or if there was something to Xander's past he didn't want to know about. All right, something *else*.

Xander was still wriggling in his seat as if he couldn't tell if a bug had crawled into his underwear, or if he'd just sat on a magazine. "Normally I would say, yes, that's right, I feel your anguish," Xander finally said. "But , um -- and you can't tell him this, OK?"

Angel felt his eyebrow crawl up his forehead. He didn't know if he were more surprised that Xander was keeping secrets from Spike, or that Xander was going to tell *Angel*. "Sure." There was no way he could say no -- he'd die from curiosity.

Xander turned towards him, and kept his voice low. "I didn't."

Angel stared at him. He waited. When Xander kept acting like *that* was the revelation, he demanded, "Didn't what?"

"Didn't let him go." Xander looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I mean, I *told* him, sure, do what you want, if you feel like you've gotta get out of Sunnydale, fine. If you think this thing between us is all 'cause the Hellmouth is making you crazy, fine. Go live in LA and see what you see. You don't have to wait for me, I don't have to wait for you. If you want me, you know where I am."

Angel nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much what he told me."

"And it's true. Um, except for the part about him knowing where I was. Since I waited all of an hour before I hopped on a Greyhound and followed him."

Angel felt his other eyebrow crawling up to join its mate. "You were in L.A.?"

Xander nodded. "Yeah -- I moved into that little roach-motel apartment about two days after I got here. I just didn't tell Spike I was here, until he called back to Sunnydale, to say he wanted me to come try life in the big city." Xander grinned, a bit shiftily. "Willow hacked into the phone system and got my Sunnydale number transferred to her second line, and forwarded all the calls to me in L.A. -- so every time Spike thought he was calling back to tell me everything was okay, and he was doing fine, I was about five miles away, and I knew *exactly* how fine he wasn't doing."

Angel found himself suddenly gaining a new respect for Xander. True, he'd seen the obnoxious young man grow up over the last few years -- he'd even had one very embarrassing, never to be mentioned again, bonding session with Giles one night about how much Xander had matured since moving to L.A. But he'd never suspected that he could be so...devious. "You followed him?" he repeated. "You *spied* on him?" he asked, quietly.

Xander grinned. "Oh, hell yeah. I wasn't about to let him go -- but I had to let him make his own decision about not being let go." Despite Xander's satisfied grin, his tone was exactly why Angel had agreed to walk Spike down the aisle and hand him over to Xander. It wasn't *just* to get rid of Spike, officially, once and for all.

Then Angel realized what the logical conclusion of Xander's revelation was, and looked away. Out the window -- bad move. Clouds. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, instead. "So I'm supposed to go after Wesley, and hang around until he changes his mind?"

"Well, there's more to it than that," Xander admitted. "But it probably wouldn't work for you, because Wes would probably notice. Since he helped me with my surveillance, and all. Gave me a lot of good ideas about getting rid of Marc, too."

"He-- Wes knew you were here?" Angel looked back at Xander.

"Yeah. He's the one who helped me find the apartment. Wes even helped me move my stuff out, so Spike could help me move back in, when I 'officially' came to L.A. You know, for the month that he let me stay in that dump, before he dragged me over to the Hyperion."

Angel stared at him.

Xander shrugged. "What, I was gonna tell you, and assume Spike couldn't worm it out of you? And Cordy would just have bapped Spike upside the head and told him to go see me. Didn't really know Gunn back then, so Wes was the obvious choice. Spike cried all over his shoulder about how much life sucked while they were out getting sozzled on imported beer, and Wes passed that info on. At least some of it, if Spike didn't specifically tell him not to tell anybody."

"I didn't know." That sounded stupid. Of course he hadn't known; that was Xander's point. "I mean, Wes never told me. Later."

"I guess--" Xander shrugged. "Actually, I have no idea. It might just have been that it was part of his life BT -- Before Trio. When you and Gunn were makin' with the relationship, and he was hanging with Spike. That wasn't exactly a banner couple of years for Wes."

"So you're saying you snuck around behind Spike's back, spied on him, and made sure he didn't manage to successfully date anyone else?"

"Yep. Basically. Hey, I didn't do anything to make him decide he wanted me. I just...made sure I wouldn't have to."

"If he'd started having a grand time being a single vampire, again, you'd have shown up and chopped off parts of his anatomy?"

Xander shifted in his seat again. "Well, at that point in my life, I might've just...no, I would've. You're right. Since he could've grown 'em right back anyhow...."

"So I should go to England and storm the castle and throw Wes over my shoulder like the hairy beast I am?"

Xander looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think...you should let Gunn storm the castle. I doubt Wes' folks have a standing invitation for their son's vampiric lovers. Then maybe the two of you can swap out shoulder-slinging duties." Xander gave him a half-smile. "This isn't about forcing Wesley to do something he doesn't want to do, Angel. It's about making sure he's doing what he *wants* to do. Sometimes even smart guys like Wesley and Spike need someone to show them what they want."

"Just because they have the same accent doesn't mean Spike's intell--" Angel stopped, and looked down at the pencil aimed at his chest. "Xander?"

"I'm morally obligated to prevent anyone but me insulting my husband. Except Cordelia, because she's scary. Be nice."

"To Spike?" That was gonna take all the fun out of his unlife.

Xander shrugged. "Nah. But I have to threaten you once in a while. Otherwise he thinks I'm not earning my keep."

Angel was beginning to get that old familiar feeling of losing control of a conversation with Xander Harris Bloody Wyndham-Price whatever Giles. He was surprised it took this long, actually. He eyed the pencil, then gave Xander his best guilt-inducing kicked-puppy look. "You'd point a deadly piece of office equipment at your own father-in-law?"

Xander looked down at the pencil, grinned, and withdrew it. "You think that's deadly, you've obviously never seen what Spike can do when he visits my office. There are random people in Singapore who have faxes of his ass hanging on their walls."

"There are random people all over the world who would much rather have his *head* hanging on their wall," Angel responded, though he couldn't resist a shudder-chuckle at the thought of what else his deranged childe could get up to in a high-tech publishing office.

"True." Xander nodded. "But he's only allowed to give *me* head. Unless prior arrangements have been made."

"Thank you so much for the gratuitous imagery." Angel tried to remind himself that he *wanted* a picture in his head to take the place of being trapped underwater in a sealed airplane with Spike. Not that this was the picture he would have chosen. He leaned back and studied the depths of his blood mug for a second, then finally spoke. "I'll think about it. Not that I *wasn't* thinking about it, but I'll think about it."

"Spike giving me head? You can come watch, if you like. Cordy made the mistake of explaining the Mile High Club to him, and now he wants to see just exactly how many positions are possible in an airplane bathroom."

Angel gritted his teeth, which had the effect of reminding him that he *still* had a headache. "No, what you said about Wes. You can report back to the others that you've done your duty, and Angel's not being an anti-social bastard, he's just tired."

Xander gave him a frown, which made him look eerily like an adult. "No one sent me over here, you know. Not that they wouldn't have, because, yeah, everyone still worries about you even though you pretend they don't. But I was just--" Xander shrugged, and looked uncomfortable. Then he sighed. "That's not why I came over here, though," he admitted, quietly.

Angel opened his eyes and looked over. "If you came over to ask for souvenir money, the answer's no. If you need extra cash, sell Spike."

Xander laughed nervously. "No, I'm good, thanks." Then he was silent again. Angel was this close to asking him to spit or swallow -- or at least digging for a politer version of the same phrase -- when Xander said, "I wanted to ask -- that is, it's not any big secret, but I think he's gonna stall about it and --"

"Oi -- you'd rather chat with a bloke who can't remember he drives a convertible, than have sex in the loo with me?" Spike's voice was loud in Angel's ears, and meshed nicely with the little headache-demon on his shoulder. "Or did you get him to agree to hold the door?" Spike leaned over the seatbacks from the row behind them, and said cheerfully to Angel, "I think position number three is gonna end up with us sprawled on the floor outside the bathroom, unless we can barricade it closed."

Angel closed his eyes again, and thought of Wesley. Thought of Wesley, at his parents' home, being pissed off at Angel for coming to his rescue. It really *was* a better image than Spike and Xander having sex. "Why don't you ask *Gunn* to hold the door for you," he suggested.

"I did. He said he would, but only if he got to flush me down the bog, after." Spike chuckled. "Might be worth it. Can you imagine some poor housewife in Idaho, gettin' hit on the head by a giant blue vampsicle fallin' out of the sky?"

"If you take him away now," Angel said in Xander's general direction, without opening his eyes, "I'll let you use the hot tub when we get home. Free-of-newt."

Xander, ever the businessman even with that odd nervousness still in his voice, said, "Hot tub *and* you have to come to Page's Bar on Trekkie Night with us, if we have time while we're in London."

"Done. Sold. Go." He could just walk in the door of this place, and walk out again, right? Or make damn sure they *didn't* have time.

"In costume," Spike added gleefully.

"No. Leave, before I tell Gunn you're taking him up on his flushing offer." Angel thanked Wesley silently for realizing -- or not -- that an implied lie isn't the same as a direct one.

"You're no fun," Spike complained. Like this was new? Well, for a guy with a vampire's life expectancy, it was sort of new. Angel found himself thinking about the sorts of things Spike had always thought *were* fun, when it came to Angel and Spike being anywhere in the same town together. Back when he'd been Angelus, soulless, and out to dismember anything he could.

Angel flinched as he was whapped on the back on the head. "Don't make me borrow nail polish from Cordelia," Gunn said.

"Oh, I've got some," Spike piped up in a helpful tone. "Black, though, might not suit your purpose."

"Don't you still have some of that blue sparkly stuff?" Xander asked.

"I wasn't--" Angel tried to protest. He shut his mouth in time. Okay, he had been, but he *might* have been thinking about all the grand times they'd spent having sex. Spike had always enjoyed anything that involved getting his end away -- except for the one time a couple of squirrels had got into the boat with them.

Gunn was staring at him, eyes narrowed. "Uh-huh. Legs?"

"Arms and heads, act--" Angel replied reflexively, then caught himself. He tried to glare at Gunn, but it had no effect. Angel pouted. "I wasn't *trying* to think about dismembering people."

"Oo! Why not?" Spike asked, cheerfully. Angel heard the sound of Spike's head being struck by Xander's hand. He could almost hear the echo, too.

Angel peered out the window. Nothing but ocean and clouds. "How long until we get there?" When he heard the answer, he decided his next mug of blood was going to have brandy in it, Or possibly horse tranquilizers.

******

Gunn was about to bitchslap somebody. Surprisingly, it wasn't Spike. More surprisingly, it wasn't even Angel, who had dozed through most of the flight, and fallen back into his not-quite-broody-enough-to-get-his-nails-painted silence, as they made their way underground from Heathrow to Kings Cross Station, and boarded the train for Nottingham.

No, he was about to spin *Xander's* head around if he didn't shut up.

"Look! Sheep!" Xander was sitting in the seat ahead of them, pointing out the carefully-draped train window at a passing meadow. Or field. Or whatever the fuck it was besides fuzzy and green and just like the last 30 of them that they'd passed. The first time Xander had pointed out the sheep, it was cool. The second time, it was funny. The 29th time...

"Xander, you just got *back* from England. And you've been here how many times on business?" Gunn finally asked, in order to stop himself from intruding on Spike's territory and whapping Xander on the back of the head. If he could even focus on it, since Xander was still bouncing in his seat. "What's the big deal about some sheep?"

Xander turned his head to look at Gunn. "Spike and Angel ate a sheep farmer once, and decided to try raising his flock for a couple of months. Somewhere between London and Nottingham, there's a flock of sheep that are kind of my step-grandchildren."

Gunn looked at him. He looked back. Xander seemed perfectly serious, and from the seat next to him, where Spike was slumped to avoid the sunlight that was trying to sneak past the curtain, he heard "Not this one, luv. Our sheep had black ears."

Was it even worth *trying* to respond? Those nutjobs raised piranha and called them their kids, so why couldn't sheep be their grandkids? "Hell, knowing Spike," he muttered, "They really *are* his grandkids."

"Oh, right," he heard from Spike's seat. "Cos Angelus would *never* get drunk an' have unlawful carnal knowledge of a fluffy animal."

Gunn started to comment, when he stopped and looked back at Angel. Angel, who was studiously trying to pretend he had the hearing of a 90 year old human and hadn't heard a word from the seat two feet from his. "Angel?" Gunn demanded, because he *knew* Spike was pulling his leg. It wasn't totally unheard of for Angel to play a joke or two, but to go along with one of Spike's?

Angel looked at him with an expression of innocence. "Yes?"

"Don't make me ask if it's true," Gunn told him. He was trying hard not to think about the fact that Angelus had probably done lots of things that didn't involve killing and torturing, which Gunn still wouldn't want to know about.

"It was Spike!" Angel protested.

"Was not," Spike argued. "You *told* me. You rodgered that fluffy one with the bell round its neck."

"Yes," Angel responded in a patient voice, and Gunn had to force himself not to clap his hands over his ears. "That was *you*."

Gunn grinned as Xander, then Spike, realized what Angel was saying. Xander began laughing hysterically, while Spike looked outraged.

Angel looked very nearly smug. "He was dressed up as a sheep. Even had the little bell around his neck on a blue ribbon, and did a fair 'bah'."

"I am *not* fluffy!" Spike protested. "And I can't remember any such thing. Must've been passed out, or some such. Took advantage of me in my weakened state, he did," he assured Xander, who was still laughing hysterically. "Pervert."

"You'd had two bottles of Scrumpy Jack, I'd had six," Angel said, still smug.

"You're bigger'n me!"

"It was your idea."

That set Spike's husband laughing even harder. Gunn blinked. Husband. Sheesh. *There* was a word. Even after living through six months of Cordy's wedding preparations, and surviving the wedding itself, it was just...weird, to think of those two as married.

He flicked a glance over at Angel, who was actually smiling, just a bit, at Spike, or maybe at Xander. Shit. Right, 'cause *Gunn* hadn't just said yes to the same thing, two weeks ago.

"S'okay, Spike," Xander was whispering now. "*I'll* never get you drunk and make you pretend to be a sheep."

"What, never?" Spike sounded disappointed.

When Gunn and Wes and Angel got married, would they automatically have to become as crazy-ass as those two? Well, no -- Spike and Xander had been pretty crazy before they'd gotten married. Now they were just sickening about it. Gunn glanced over at Angel again, and watched him watching Spike wriggle out of admitting he'd done anything perverted unless Xander wanted him to.

Angel was still smiling, but then his gaze flicked back to Gunn. For a moment they just looked at each other, the silent communication thing going, without Wes around to get into a snit about it. That thought reminded Gunn where they were -- why they were halfway across the globe. Drag Wes back home where they could all three get married.

Gunn felt something inside, give a slight lurch. As he felt it, he saw Angel's expression change. The smile vanished, and the echoes of a serious brood settled into Angel's eyes. Gunn reached over and took Angel's hand. "We're gonna drag his pansy English ass *home* and lock him in the bathroom, if that's what it takes."

"If he wants to come," Angel said quietly. Gunn gave him a sharp look.

"It's gonna take a lot of convincing, to make me think he shouldn't come home with us," Gunn declared. He wasn't totally certain he wouldn't sling Wes over his shoulder, anyhow. He didn't *want* to marry Angel, if Wes wasn't gonna be there.

What was the point? Wes was the one who needed something like a ring and a piece of paper, no matter how not-legal it was, to show that the two of them wanted him for more than just running the show in the office (or pretending to run it when Cordelia's back was turned), and playing the bottom in bed so Gunn and Angel didn't have to flip coins for it.

Gunn knew how Angel felt about him, and though nobody knew exactly what Wes felt about anything, Gunn knew how much he needed the guy who'd once told him that if he fucked up on the job again, he was out, 'bag and baggage.' He'd been pissed at the time, but later, he understood. In the middle of a firefight, two *years* later, when Wes had given him one look, and Gunn had run to knock Cordy out of the way, instead of saving Wes. Right then, Gunn had figured out exactly what it had taken for Wes to make a speech like that -- and had loved him all the more for it.

How could Angel even have questions about whether to grab him and carry him home? If Wesley *did* somehow manage to convince him that he needed to stay...England was going to have two more permanent residents. Gunn felt Angel's fingers press lightly against his -- Gunn knew Angel had felt him relax, again, and was saying that if they weren't on a public train, he'd probably gotten more than just the slight touch. Gunn gave him a half-smile.

Spike and Xander didn't seem to be paying any attention to the whispers and stares, even if they hadn't gone as far as to play their usual every-three-hours tonsil-hockey. The two girls giggling, a few rows back, seemed to be the only ones who didn't really mind the gropes, quick kisses, and things Gunn didn't want to know about that were making Xander say "No, Spike! Not on the train!" and Cordy say, "Damn straight, not on the train. Not anywhere where I can see you -- the airline food was bad enough the first time, thank you."

Gunn returned the pressure on Angel's fingers, and thought about getting Angel and Wesley back to the hotel. Wes wouldn't refuse to see them, would he? Even if he'd started being a prick about returning their calls? Gunn stared towards the shaded window, and tried not to think about why Wesley *was* trying to avoid them.

Maybe... Maybe things really were a mess with his family, and they could help straighten things out, before throwing Wes over one shoulder or another? If it was money, well... Gunn was perfectly willing to go into debt to Xander until he was eighty. Not to help Wesley's parents, who, as far as he was concerned, could suck eggs, but to make Wes feel easy about leaving them alone.

When they hit the Nottingham station and were making their way to the back of the car to grab the luggage, he quietly shared that thought with Xander, after a deep breath. Xander just looked at him, pretty much like he'd suggested one of those sheep in the last field they'd passed had Spike's eyes.

"I ain't hitting you up, Xander. If they need it, I'm saying, we'd do it the legal way. Through a bank, and--"

"Don't be a dork. If Wes needs money, I'm not gonna loan it to *you*. I'm gonna give it to him." Xander rolled his eyes.

"But if he won't take it -- if he gets all proud and stupid and shit--"

"Then Wes' folks will suddenly win the Georgia Lottery, and they'll have all they need," Xander interrupted. He sounded eerie, like an international, inter-species business magnate who hadn't just been laughing at his vampiric husband and making 'baaah' sounds.

"Why don't I ever win the lottery?" Cordelia complained, and Gunn watched the entertainment as Xander tried to explain why he hadn't ever just given Cordy a couple hundred thousand dollars to play with.

Gunn started grabbing bags, and tossing them towards stronger-than-thou vampires. Xander was reaching the 'because you never asked!' lame end of the excuse pool, as Gunn moved past him with his own bag slung over his shoulder. A thought occurred to Gunn -- one he didn't like. "We gonna wait til tonight, to go see Wes?"

"Why? Can't we just stash the sunlight-challenged among us, while we go pay a visit?" Cordelia was smiling. Gunn wondered just how much pocket money she had now.

Angel looked suddenly nonplused. Gunn wanted to grin. So he *wasn't* quite as laid back as he'd been pretending. Looked like Gunn wouldn't need to look around for any help in carrying Wes home. "I don't think a family of Watchers would be very happy to see a vampire on their doorstep, even if we did wait for night," Angel said after a second.

"And we care about their feelings because?" Spike piped up as they headed down a narrow passageway to the rental car pick-up, on the shaded east side of the station.

"Because Wes apparently does, and I don't think we should embarrass him by pissing off his folks," Angel said sharply. Maybe a bit sharper than he'd intended, Gunn thought, because Spike -- *Spike* -- was silent as he walked to the second car and stood in the shadows while Xander dealt with the car rental people, making sure they'd gotten the vamp-safe cars he'd ordered, before they began loading suitcases into the trunks.

When he was alone with Angel in their own car, Gunn was suddenly at a loss for words. They were here. A mile or so away from where Wes lived. Angel was still plainly not happy about the whole thing, no matter how many times he looked like he might give in and be the one to lead the charge. Finally, for lack of anything else to say, Gunn began, "Spike was just--"

"I know he was just. When Spike decides somebody's family, nobody else is allowed to pick on them. Not even their own." Angel looked out the darkened windshield. "Especially not their own."

Gunn wasn't entirely sure he wanted to ask what Angel meant by that. He had some suspicions -- he'd heard a few things, but hadn't ever asked. A survival instinct, that the cops couldn't make you confess to something when you didn't know. Not that Spike had a problem with getting arrested, but Gunn liked being able to swear, in all honesty, that he had no clue exactly what Spike did when he was out of Gunn's sight.

"He's OK," Gunn said quietly, not quite changing the subject. Angel glanced at him sharply, almost looking surprised.

Gunn didn't blame him -- he didn't really believe it, himself. He knew Wes was a grown man, able to take care of himself. But the thought of anyone even hurting Wes' feelings -- the way Wesley's folks always seemed to do -- made Gunn's blood burn. He knew he was over-reacting, but the closer he got, the more he wanted to knock somebody silly at the first sign his father had even looked cross-eyed at Wesley.

It was weird, though, to realize that *Spike* felt the same way. Disturbing, in a way he really didn't want to think about. Made Gunn wonder just how much he didn't know about *Wes*, too, despite all the time they'd spent together when Angel had been off in Darlaville. He didn't *like* to think that he didn't know his lover, but he was beginning to wonder. He didn't like wondering, either.

Gunn felt a poke on his arm. "Huh?"

"I said, do you want me to paint your toenails? I think Spike said he had the blue sparkly stuff." Angel looked deadly serious.

"Try it and you're a dead dead guy," Gunn answered. Then he leaned his head back against the upholstery, which just happened to have Angel's left arm stretched across it.

There was something nice about resting your head on somebody's leather coat sleeve. Especially when somebody didn't say anything about it, just left his arm there, and rested his hand casually on your shoulder, as he drove. Still, by the time they reached the hotel, Gunn was almost ready to admit that maybe they should just paint each *other's* toenails. Maybe they'd let Wes do it. Bribe him to come home, and they'd let him paint them whatever colours he liked.

Or else they'd threaten to paint *his* toenails.

*****

Cordelia was beginning to reconsider her original decision. True, the first two times she'd ever kissed Wesley, there had been nothing by way of passion. There was also the whole 'gay now' thing, not to mention having two boyfriends, even if they were pissed off at him right now. But, seeing the Wyndham-Pryce estate, Cordelia reconsidered.

The family might or might not have a lot of money -- but they had a lot of land, a huge house, servants, and English accents. What else could she possibly ask for?

"Don't even," Gunn's voice jolted her out of her accounting of how many servants a mansion that size would require.

"Huh?"

"I see that look in your eyes, Cordelia. You ain't gettin' him." He sounded stern, but he was smiling, ever so slightly. Xander just shook his head, and moved forward up the porch to ring the bell. It actually took him a few moments of searching the doorway, before he just pressed the area where doorbells usually were.

Cordelia gave Gunn an offended look. "I wasn't thinking anything like that! I was just...you know. Nice house. Nice garden. Could do with a beautiful young woman gracing the rooms with her presence."

"Yeah, well, if you wanna stay here when we take Wes home, be my guest. Maybe they need a new maid."

"Uh! I'll give you 'new maid,' Mr. I Can't Clean The Cheeto Bags Out of My Desk Until The Health Department Comes By To Shut Us All Down. See if I ever--"

The door began to open, and Cordelia broke off mid-threat, to present a smiling, cheery face to whoever was on the other side. Wesley's dad needed an executive assistant, right?

The woman on the other side of the door wore a simple gray dress. Housekeeper? Or Wesley's mother, in something so expensive it didn't *have* to be complicated? Cordelia blinked. There was a time when she would have known instantly, and it irked her that she even had to wonder. "May I help you?"

That wasn't the voice she'd heard over the phone. Housekeeper, then. Cordelia never let her smile falter. "We're here to see Wesley. Is he home?"

"No, I'm sorry. He's not due back until this evening." The woman remained in the doorway for a moment, obviously just waiting for a message to be left, when they heard another woman's voice call out.

"Who is it, Cecile?" That voice, Cordelia recognized. Wesley's mother. "We're friends of Wesley's," she explained to the maid, who relayed the information to an older, *very* tastefully attired woman who walked up behind her. There wasn't any comparison. Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce gave them all a short, but thoroughly measuring look. "My son is not here at the moment," she said to them, not quite disdainfully. Cordelia had the feeling that if it were the proper British thing to do, she'd dismiss them all at once and slam the door.

"Can we wait for him?" Cordelia asked, boldly. She gave Wesley's mother her most charming smile before the older lady could voice her refusal. "This is a gorgeous home, Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce. Nothing at all like the glitz in LA." Cordelia gave the woman an un-subtle 'Please let us look around and show off your house while we pretend to care, so we can wait for Wesley,' expression.

Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce almost smiled. "Thank you. It has been in my husband's family for generations." She still made no move to invite them in -- or, given the non sheep-farming part of the family business, to stand aside and let them invite *themselves* in.

"I guess the upkeep on it must cost quite a bit," Xander said, as his gaze traveled over the whole scene around them.

The carefully-clipped hedges along the drive, the little unmanned stone gatehouse halfway down it. The garden gnomes peeking out of the grass, which Cordelia hoped were *real* garden gnomes, the stone kind. You never knew, and after the incident where Spike had invited the pixies to hide in her bathroom, disguised as troll dolls, she'd been overly suspicious of such things.

"And it's probably a family trust, so you wouldn't be able to mortgage it." Xander spoke very casually, much more so than Cordelia had. Well, he could afford to -- he wasn't standing on a hard granite porch in heels that were just slightly too high for walking comfortably in the English countryside. She recognized his 'I'm being subtle' face, though, the one he used when he was trying to convince Spike that *later* would be a good time to try the thing with the raspberry jelly, and not while Match Game 79 was re-running on the Game Show Network.

Wesley's mother looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. "It does get rather expensive to keep the place up to Historical Society standards, yes."

Xander nodded. "And that's the only way to keep the property in a tax bracket that isn't three times the income of the estate itself." He flashed the Xander innocent-boy grin, and Cordelia would have rolled her eyes, if it didn't seem to be working so well. "You know, I bet there's a way to play it from both ends -- get the tax credit for being a Stately Home, and still not have to funnel your own money into it. Have you looked into applying for a National Treasures grant?"

The uncomfortable look on Wesley's mother's face was being replaced by a combination of flattered and... well, 'money-grubbing' didn't sound right for somebody dressed so well. But Cordelia had seen a similar expression n her own mom's face, in times long past. "No -- I think Wesley might be..." Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce frowned.

"I'm sorry -- we're being rude. This is Cordelia, and Gunn, and I'm Xander, who can't keep his mouth shut about financial things that are none of his business."

"No, that's perfectly all right." She smiled, now, very politely. "I'm not certain when Wesley will be back, but perhaps you'd like to wait for him inside?"

Just like Cordelia hadn't asked that, two minutes ago. She glared at the woman behind her back, as they were led into a large entrance foyer. Then she whispered into Xander's ear. "Okay, I know you own a big company, but since when do you know about real estate and English tax law?"

"I don't. I was just making it up as I went along, trying to sound as much like David as possible. Without mentioning hit points or dexterity rolls."

"Whatever works," Cordelia whispered, heartened that Xander hadn't been hiding this business acumen persona from her -- his ability to bullshit, she knew about. They used to call it babbling, but once he'd started increasing his vocabulary and hanging around Spike, it became full-fledged bullshitting.

They entered the house, losing the maid somewhere behind them as they walked into the large foyer. Gunn stood behind and between her and Xander -- looming back there like he was Angel, or their bodyguard or something. She wanted to tell him to relax -- but Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce was smiling at them, now, and gesturing towards one of the side doors.

"Would you children care to see the house?"

Cordelia smiled, biting back the 'children?' response, choosing to believe it was just that she still looked 21 and not because the woman was being condescending. Xander, of course, *did* still look 21, which always irked her.

Wesley's mother led them out of the entryway, and through a much larger room. "The formal parlor -- I'm afraid we don't use it much anymore; it's rather expensive to heat in the winter, so it's usually blocked off year round, but we're having some of the art pieces appraised, and needed to air it out."

"It's very...airy," Cordelia managed. Airy, as in, could fit half a football stadium in it. Her own house in Sunnydale, B.D.T.D. (Before Daddy's Tax Disaster), had been large -- but nothing like this scale. Only the knowledge that everything wasn't hunky-dory on the money front here, either, kept her from drooling unabashedly.

"I wouldn't think about selling them off to pay for the house, if I were you," Xander said, as he walked closer to a large painting of three children in velvety clothes, playing with a dog that was taller than any of them. "You'd have a better chance at a historical grant with the ancestral art collection intact."

"That's what Wesley said. Though of course, we wouldn't part with them anyway. They're just being reappraised for insurance purposes."

Xander smiled disarmingly. "Wes and I have the same tax advisor."

It was on the tip of Cordelia's tongue to say 'Yeah, he's a Burgelin demon', but she controlled herself. No doubt Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce wouldn't find it amusing, and since when did she have this urge to annoy Wesley's mother? She hadn't spent *that* much time talking with Spike on the flight over.

They allowed Wesley's mother to guide them through the various rooms on the first floor, smiling and nodding while Cordelia and Xander traded making complimentary remarks. Cordelia was flatly astounded at Xander's ability to be charming *and* sound like he knew what he was talking about. She knew he could be like this, but it wasn't often he let anyone see him acting like a grown up. She gave him a smile, once, when Wesley's mother had her back turned as she pointed out a particularly boring family artifact.

He smiled back, looking surprised for a second, before returning her look with a warm one that made her secretly wish, as she did every very so often, that it was her that Xander loved. As she turned back to Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce in time to be impressed with some drapes, or possibly the windows themselves, she wasn't sure which, she told herself she would have to be satisfied with hiding a pair of Spike's underwear in Angel, Gunn, and Wesley's bathroom.

Gunn just followed them around like... well, like a tall, black shadow. Stereotypical or not, it was what he was acting like. Hands in his pockets, almost like he was afraid they'd accuse him of stealing something. He caught her looking at him as they walked out into an open area near the stairs, and mouthed, "What?" at her.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "What?" she mimicked quietly, while Xander chatted with Mrs. W-P about the library, and how much they'd all like to see the collection of a family that had several generations of Watchers in it. "You could talk, you know. Xander and I shouldn't have to carry this show all by ourselves."

He looked guilty for a second, but then his expression changed, as his gaze focused on something over her shoulder. Cordelia glanced that way, to see Wesley's mom showing Xander the wood paneling on the wall of the stairway, and a clever little door handle that was disguised as a fleur de lis, the only indication of the tiny closet under the stairs. Gunn's eyes grew cold. "I don't think she'd wanna hear anything I got to say."

"Okay, *somebody's* grouchy. She seems perfectly nice to me." She did, if a little snooty. But snooty didn't necessarily mean bad. Not compared to flesh-eating Triska Worms or giant bugs of all shapes and sizes. Besides, if Gunn didn't chill out and stop that vein from bulging in his neck, *he* was gonna have a heart attack. They could tuck him up in bed next to Wesley's dad, wherever he was, and they could share the nitroglycerin tabs.

She understood perfectly well why he was on edge, but if he ground his teeth any louder, Wesley's mom would think she had termites. "Wes didn't ever tell you?" he asked in a low voice.

Ahead of them, Xander was cheerfully saying something about the hardwood flooring. Cordelia wondered if maybe Xander had been possessed by...well, the only one she knew who knew anything about quality flooring was herself. If *he* was getting turned on by hardwood flooring, instead of linoleum, she didn't want to know about it.

"Tell me what?"

Gunn nodded back towards the stairs. Cordelia looked, confused, as Gunn said, "That little closet's where they used to lock him up."

"Lock him *up*?" Cordelia spun around to stare at Gunn, then back at the closet, then ahead, at Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce, who was merrily recounting all the times she'd held parties and dances in the ballroom across the way.

He had to be kidding. Wes had never told her anything like that. Her eyes narrowed, but the look on Gunn's face made her stop, and look at Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce again. Gunn looked like he was about to tear something apart.

Cordelia put her hand on his arm, and wasn't surprised to find him tense. "Come on. Let's just find out when Wes is going to be back." They caught up as she was leading them towards the library, and Cordelia asked, as politely as possible, "Maybe we should leave a message and come back, after all? If Wes isn't going to be home until *much* later, we don't want to take up your whole afternoon."

Whatever Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce was about to answer, was curtailed by a voice from within the seriously huge room whose doorway they stood in front of. "Claire, is that you? Who's that with you?"

Wesley's mom-- Cordelia couldn't quite bring herself to think of the woman by her first name, blinked, then smiled a bit nervously. "That's my husband," she explained. "He's been resting in the library, lately, rather than upstairs, so he can work on cataloguing part of the book collection for the insurance appraisers. I've told him he shouldn't tire himself, but..."

"If that's Wesley, send him in here -- I want to see those bank statements."

"No, dear, it's some of Wesley's friends." She moved into the room, heading towards a desk where a man sat, bent over piles of books and ledgers. He bore a striking resemblance to Wesley, from the back -- Cordelia saw the same shape of the skull, the same posture and frame, even the same hair colour in the smattering that had not turned grey.

When he turned around to greet his visitors, however, all resemblance was gone. Wesley's father had a hard face, creased with lines that Cordelia knew didn't come from laughing too much. His eyes were cold, and he made no effort to put on much more than a polite veneer for the strangers in his home. His gaze took them in, then he grunted and turned back to his work.

Wesley's mother smiled, a bit nervously, and walked further into the room, forcing them to follow. "They've come to see Wesley," Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce told her husband. "I've let them know he's gone out, and I've been showing them the house."

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce waved a hand, as if that was well and good, and she could get on with it.

The library would send Giles right past green-with-envy, if he could see it, and straight into plaid, Cordelia decided. Possibly ecru. Or maybe he *had* seen it before; as the Slayer's Watcher, he probably knew Wesley's parents, at least socially. Xander was doing his David-impersonation again, though underneath that, she could see some real awe in his eyes, at the sheer number of books. Or it might be fear, that Wes would carry half of them back to L.A. with him, and Xander might be forced to actually read one of them, at some point.

Gunn, on the other hand, stood at her elbow, utterly silent -- until she touched his arm again, and found that he was vibrating so hard that you could probably sell tickets to lonely housewives to sit on his lap. Not that you couldn't anyway, but she tended to try not to point those things out to the men in her life.

Then he spoke, slowly, and way too loudly for any room with this many books in it. "You remember what I told you about Wolfram and Hart?"

She blinked at him. "That they kiss Angel's butt a little too much since that whole hostile takeover thing that David did?"

"No. About the first time I saw the place. Mecca for evil white folks."

"Come on, Gunn. They aren't that bad," Cordelia scolded him quietly, while glaring. "He just had major heart surgery, he's entitled to be a bit gruff."

Gunn gave her a look that said he not only didn't believe her, but would appreciate her removing her hand so he could go strangle someone without tripping her.

"Some of these books are over five hundred years old," Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce said, proudly.

"Wow. Are any of them in English?" Xander asked, sounding definitely a bit intimidated by the prospect of being told, one day, to 'Grab that copy of Erstwhiler's Treatise that I brought from home, and tell me if it mentions Morgag rituals.'

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce looked up sharply. "Of course. Many of them *are* in ancient languages, though; I've had to read them all, at one point or another. Wesley would have, as well, if he'd ever learnt how to read Aramaic properly."

Gunn took a step in his direction, but Cordelia managed to step daintily on his left foot. "I think Wesley reads Aramaic pretty well, now," she said, searching her memory for what the hell language that was. "Xander, wasn't that book on the Tay-cross, that that thing that was haunting the daycare center, in Aramaic?"

Xander shrugged, looking less casual now. Whether he'd picked up Gunn's alpha-male pheromones, or just heard a nasty echo of his own dad in Mr. Wyndham-Pryce's voice, she wasn't sure. "It was in something I can't read. Which means it could've been anything besides English, first-year Spanish, or Spike's handwriting."

Wesley's dad looked up again. "Tehcrossh?" He frowned, and those wrinkles fell right into place. "Are you the people my son 'works' with?" There was enough condescension in that tone to send lesser people running for the nearest plane back to whatever obviously tiny and illiterate third world nation they'd arrived from. But Cordelia had played that game with the best of them, and always won -- and Xander and Gunn... well, they worked with *her*.

"For," she said brightly, as if no insult had been implied.

"Wesley works for you."

"No, we work for him. Technically, anyway," she explained.

"Ah, yes, Wesley explained about that. You needed a figurehead to divert attention from that...so-called souled vampire." Wesley's father turned back to his books, already dismissing them, and his son's business.

"No, she means 'technically' in that he lets us argue about what we do, before telling us to do it. Works a lot better for him, though, than it does for me." Xander frowned.

"I thought Carla let *you* argue, before she decided what you'd do?" Cordelia asked him. Xander gave her a look that would have been a tongue-sticking-out, if they weren't trying to impress Wesley's parents.

"I meant with Spike."

Cordelia tilted her head. "You and Spike argue all the time."

"Yeah, but he never does what I tell him to. Angel and Gunn--" He stopped, suddenly, as if realizing perhaps he shouldn't be mentioning Wesley's two lovers, in front of Wesley's parents.

"But Spike doesn't work for you," Cordelia pointed out, realizing that Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce was looking confused, but not really caring.

"Oh god! Can you imagine?" Xander groaned. "If Spike were my secretary...." Even Gunn snickered at that, once, before resuming his going-to-blow-a-gasket stance.

"Is, er, Spike, another one of your...colleagues?" Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce asked.

Cordelia couldn't help snorting. Not because he wasn't part of the team. Spike was almost as good at the research thing as Wesley was, if they really needed him -- and of course, he loved to go on a killing-slimy-things run. It was just trying to associate the word 'colleague' in her head, with the image of Spike in Wesley's office, dropping paperclips down Xander's pants and trying to retrieve them with a magnet on a string.

"Yes, on a part-time basis," she settled on saying.

"Yeah, when he's not too busy with his day job, feeding the fish and lounging on the couch watching TVland all afternoon," Xander put in with a grin. When Wesley's mom looked at him questioningly, he added, "Spike's my husband." Then he made this adorable little noise that Cordelia decided then and there would have to be repeated and recorded as soon as possible, so she could play it back to embarrass him at a later date.

Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce didn't say a word -- but her face froze, slightly. Cordelia could see the stern look of disapproval in her eyes. It was Wesley's father's reaction that made Cordelia wish they'd brought Spike along, to let them see the two newlyweds groping each other. Mr. Wyndham-Pryce had looked up quickly at Xander, and his expression was one of finding slimy, muddy, demon poo tracked in on the thousand year old Persian rug.

Xander smiled back, brightly. "He's a vampire, too. Angel's grandkid."

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce leant back in his chair. In a frosty voice, he said, "I believe you three should be on your way. My health is not at its best, and having a house full of people is very distracting. You can leave a message with Cecile, to let my son know you stopped by." He turned back to his books, then, and Cordelia knew that no matter what else they said, he would no longer acknowledge their presence.

Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce stepped forward, between them and her husband. "I'll see you to the door." She sounded more formal than before, if still more friendly than Wesley's father.

Cordelia could feel Gunn hanging back, as they walked out of the library. By this point, *she* didn't really care what he said to Wesley's parents -- the look on Wesley's father's face had been enough to convince her that he, at least, wasn't worth being nice to. But if they were trying to convince Wes to come home, pissing off his parents, even if they were jerks, might not be the best way to get him in a mood where he was willing to discuss it.

When she turned back to pull on his arm, though, she found him just staring at Mr. Wyndham-Pryce's back. Not a murderous glare, just... she really couldn't read it. "Gunn?"

"You don't wanna know, okay?" He gave a last look, then took her arm -- almost like he was trying to teach this guy who wasn't watching him what it *really* meant to be a gentleman -- and led her out of the room. As they passed the stairs, he glanced back at the little door, and she almost asked him if he'd been serious. He shook his head, and said more softly, "I said you don't wanna know, right?"

"I do know," she whispered back. Maybe not the specifics, but enough. "But he has people who love him, now. People who tell him how great he is, and how much he's worth." She gave his arm a slight squeeze. "We won't leave him here, Gunn. But we owe it to him to let *him* decide." She paused, then added, "Before we haul him off in a crate and ship him back by Federal Express."

******

Angel was not brooding. He was not even sort of brooding, and there was no way anyone could mistake him for being someone who was brooding.

He wasn't staying in one place long enough to brood. The hotel they'd rented rooms at was only a few miles from Wesley's parents' place, and with Wesley not purportedly at home, it shouldn't take them long to go out, check things out, and come back. Angel had resolved to wait patiently for them. He'd even seriously considered finding a chess board and making Spike play against him.

Two hours of pretending to wait, he'd begun pacing. Spike, the annoying little rat, was lounging in a chair, watching him. Angel had tried growling at him, but Spike had only smirked. Angel had been about to call him on it -- all this being calm and casual when they were cooped up, waiting. Then he'd seen the threads picked free from the chair's arm.

"You know, you keep that up, you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet, and Xan and I'll have to spread marmalade all over the floor to hide it," Spike said, perfectly seriously.

"No, you won't," Angel replied immediately, aware of just *how* perfectly serious Spike could be about things like that. "If you have to make a mess, you'll do it in your own room, that Xander's paying for."

Spike nodded. "Oh, we're planning on it. He paid extra and all. But it's not as much fun to do it where you've permission to."

What exactly had he done to get saddled with Spike, again? Oh. Right. Drusilla. Convent. Eternal torment. But he'd meant for *her,* not himself. He glared at Spike, and went back to pacing. Up the length of the room. Back down. Slowly, so as not to *look* like he was pacing. Spike just watched him. And watched him. And yes, picked at the armchair, but still, there was that half-grin on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Angel growled again. "Spike, if you don't stop that, I swear I'm gonna pick you up and throw you -- " Newt! Newt! His memory screamed. You would *not* throw him out in the sunlight, and if you tell him you will, you'll be pacing around this room on four legs and a tail until they can get Wes back to put you right. "In the bathtub, under the cold water," he finished. *That*, he would be more than willing to do.

"Mine, or yours?" Spike asked immediately. "Cos mine has the complimentary rubber ducks."

Angel scowled at him as hard as he could. No effect, and he hadn't expected it would have had any, but it made him feel better. It occurred to him that arguing with Spike might be at least a bit diverting, while they waited. Shouldn't they be back by now? He didn't glance at the clock, because he'd glanced at it five minutes ago and he figured it was five minutes later than what time it had been then. Right?

He glanced at the clock. Four minutes had passed.

"Relax, Angel -- you'll give yourself a coronary. They'll be back when they're back." Angel pretended he wasn't listening. "'Sides, I thought you didn't care if Wesley wants to come home."

"What do you mean?" He turned back to face Spike with a deep growl. "Of course I care!" So much for pretending. "I want him to come home -- I just don't want to make him come if he doesn't want to!"

Spike grinned. "Never met a man who didn't want to come, no matter how much he says otherwise." There was no mistaking the leer that accompanied the statement. "It's an old game, innit. I remember playin' it. I don't wanna, can't make me... And then you'd do your best to change my mind."

Angel snorted. "And your record at that game was what -- thirty seconds?'

"With or without a ring?" Spike asked easily. Then his expression grew serious, which was always disturbing, no matter how many times Angel witnessed it. "Just saying. Wes plays that game better'n Xander, even."

It was on the tip of Angel's tongue to say, 'Since when do you play sex games with my boyfriend?' while he knocked Spike out of the chair and did things to the floor that would make marmalade look like Luv-My-Carpet -- but the brain prevailed over the demon, or possibly the penis, at the last second. He settled for glaring. "I *know* he does. Did. But I kinda thought that was over--" His eyes narrowed. "Thanks in part to the services of Love Doctor Spike."

Spike gave him a look of innocence that was just...wrong, on that face. Except when dressed as a choirboy, and that had been a *long* time ago. "Hey, all I did was point out that you and Gunn are morons. It doesn't take an advanced degree for that, mate."

"We are *not*--" He stopped himself, just in time. He wasn't certain if he'd been close to turning himself into a newt, but he didn't want to risk anything.

Spike snickered, then said, again in a serious tone, "Obviously it isn't over. You two lugs might've convinced him, for a bit, but I'll wager that all Wes wanted was for you two to come to England and haul him back home, thereby proving your devotion to him."

Angel stared at Spike, wondering if his childe had been possessed sometime in the last decade, and nobody had told him. "Dru made you read pulp romances to her, didn't she?" he suddenly realized.

Spike barely had the grace to look embarrassed. "I learnt a lot about human nature, reading those things. Enough to tell me that Wes is acting like a prick because you and Gunn have been acting like idiots. Plot number 12A -- missing only the rendezvous on the beach on page fifty-two."

"So what am I supposed to do, rent a horse and go riding up to carry him away?"

"Nah. Not unless the novel's got a historical setting. Be enough to drive up in a slick sports car, leap out and rescue his parents from their life of poverty with the rich uncle's inheritance you got while you'd vanished mysteriously."

Angel gaped at Spike. "You don't still read those things, do you?"

"Hell, no!" Spike grinned. "Well, not the ones Dru used to have me read, anyhow. Not enough sexy bits in 'em."

Okay, so he *sounded* like he knew what he was talking about. But how much of that was Angel wanting him to be right? Wasn't that the easiest answer, that Wes wanted them to show up and shower him with devotion, and carry him home? Problem was, Wes had never been that uncomplicated. *Spike* was that uncomplicated, most of the time, for all he was more intelligent than his day-to-day idiocy let on. He was mine and me and mine, and you love me so I'm happy, you hurt me so I'm mad at you, please don't cry, I'll do anything. Simple answers.

Wes... wasn't like that. Sometimes the simple answer was the right one, with him, and sometimes it was the one that would make him shy away, and turn his shoulder towards you in the middle of the night. And then you'd wake up to find your toothbrush floating in the toilet again, and you had to try to figure out what you'd done that pissed him off.

Though, come to think of it, Spike had played those sorts of games, too, and still did, with Xander. With him, though, it had always seemed like the effort put forth to figure out what it was he wanted, was enough to convince him you cared. With Wesley, you actually had to get it right.

His head was beginning to hurt again. "I just want him to tell me what he wants. Then I'll do it, and we can all go home."

In an equally quiet, reasonable tone, Spike said, "Then ask him. You'll see him soon. Until then, why don't I tell you about my honeymoon. Did you know you're a wanker in every dimension I've ever visted? In that one, it took you a hundred bloody years to drag me behind closed doors and shag the death out of me. You were bein' sensitive to my emotional needs, or some poncy crap."

Angel groaned, and let his head fall forward. Once everything was fixed, and Wes was where he belonged -- Angel was going to kill Spike.

He heard people coming down the hall, and recognized Xander's voice. He ended up racing Spike to the door, and opened it to find a startled Cordelia just beginning to knock. "Er, hi. Miss us?" she asked.

"Where is he? How is he? What'd you find out?" Angel babbled.

Cordelia blinked at him, and he could see Xander smirking. "A little nervous, are we? Gee, for someone who didn't want to come at all--" Cordelia began.

"I hate that place," Gunn interrupted. "I don't like those people, I don't like thinking about Wesley being there and as soon as I see him I'm--"

Angel looked from Gunn, to Cordelia, to Xander. Whatever they'd found hadn't been pleasant. It hadn't been awful -- otherwise they'd all be heading right back out to stage a rescue. But none of the three were happy, and Gunn was about to start ranting and pacing like he was Angel.

Angel took Gunn's arm and pulled him into the room. Spike slipped past him, gathering up Xander along the way. The two of them headed down the hallway, already talking quietly and slipping their hands into each other